


The Force's Will

by NiriKeehan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Awesome Phasma, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Order Politics (Star Wars), Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Star Wars EU trash so I'm gonna mine it for all its worth fam, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, POV Armitage Hux, POV Kylo Ren, POV Rey (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Power Imbalance, Revolutionary Poe, Slow Burn, Space Politics, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Unresolved Sexual Tension, winning is easy young man governing's hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-11-24 08:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiriKeehan/pseuds/NiriKeehan
Summary: Something is very wrong with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. In order to maintain the galaxy’s fragile peace, Prime Minister Hux must seek out an unlikely ally: Rey, the object of Kylo’s dark obsession. Meanwhile, on the other side of the galaxy, Rey and Poe are trying to spark a revolution to overthrow the First Order. Caught between two opposing forces, what is Rey to do?





	1. Long Live the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren reaps his spoils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! This fic is a WIP but I have a lot of ideas. If you like sloooow burn Reylo, want some Star Warsian space adventures, and miss (or didn’t realize you’re missing!) the political intrigue of the EU/Legends novels, this might be for you. c: I’m working on bringing in more elements from the EU that I miss in the Disney canon – though that’s certainly not required to understand. I take a LOT of liberties, and present pretty much everything as new to the reader. I’ve rated it M for darker themes (war, mental illness, social prejudice), but it’s probably closer to Teen in terms of actual content at the moment. We'll see where things go, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it so far.

Today was going to be a bad day.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren already had the start of a headache as he entered the audience chamber of his Imperial Palace on Coruscant. His dreams had been full of ghosts, and he’d awoken drained and restless.

It had taken nearly all his energy to dress in appropriate garb for the morning’s audience. Hux was already reminding him that, as Supreme Leader, he needed to make good first impressions. In the beginning, there had been much back and forth about the appropriateness of his helmet, if the cape was a bit much. In the end Kylo had conceded to, in Hux’s view, a more “refined” look. He still dressed all in black, but with knee high boots and a tall collar. On his breast was a simple red pin, in the shape of the First Order insignia. He kept his hair long, but neatly combed.

He _had_ remembered to comb his hair this morning, hadn’t he? Kylo angled to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the door of the palace’s lift. He raked fingers from his scalp to the nape of his neck. Close enough.

The lift dinged and the doors slid open. Kylo quickly shoved his hands behind his back and stalked out into the imperial audience chamber.

Once belonging to the Senate of the Old Republic, then the imperial majesty of the Empire, the audience chamber, in Kylo’s childhood, had been requisitioned for the inner Senate of the New Republic. He remembered glimpses of the chamber, all white marble walls and receding orchestra seating, adorned with flags of the New Republic and all its member systems, from his infrequent trips as a child. His mother spoke on the Senate floor often, and back then he was just an insignificant kid clinging to his father’s trouser leg, offered smiles and candy by charmed politicians.

No longer. One of Kylo’s first decrees as Supreme Leader of the First Order was to dismantle the long, many chaired table that had sat on the central dias and replace it with a throne for himself. A very tasteful throne, black with red cushions. He sat there now, as the sycophants swarmed him. He had thought dissolving the Senate would take care of this problem, but evidently not. Ministers of every possible interior, representatives from a dozen systems — they all wanted his undivided attention.

“Supreme Leader, the food riots on Bastion VI are threatening to spill over into civil war!”

“Sir, you still haven’t signed off on last quarter’s budget, you ought to have a look at it.”

“But first, your Majesty, the daily intelligence brief is positively ghastly right now. There’s terrorists gathering on—”

“That’s alarmist nonsense. What the Supreme Leader really needs is to look at my infrastructure proposal. An entire sector of Ord Mantell is still without power after that plant meltdown.”

“Enough,” barked Kylo. The bureaucrats fell silent. The pain that had begun as a dull throbbing in his temples had intensified into sharp pain above his eyes. He slumped in his throne, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where’s Hux?”

“Right here, Ren,” came the dry, posh accent of Prime Minister Armitage Hux, former General of the First Order Fleet and, ironically, Kylo’s closest confidant. Hux strode into the audience chamber with a thermos of caf in hand, trailed by his personal assistant, Dopheld Mitaka. Hux had long ago traded his black military uniform for a costume more befitting a politician: he stood in a white overcoat adorned with a sash and medals touting his military victories, and cobalt blue trousers. His red hair was as perfectly coiffed as always, though in the years since the Battle of Crait he’d grown some impressive mutton chops.

Kylo never understood how the man could carry himself so convincingly, but there he was, parting the sea of flunkeys and sauntering to his Supreme Leader’s side. “What is it, sir?”

“I want to see you in my office. Alone.” In truth, Kylo just wanted to get away from the crowd. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

“Of course.” Hux turned to Mitaka and gestured toward the officials. “See that their needs are noted and send them away.” He flashed a stiff smile to the lot of them pooled at the bottom of the dias. “Good to see you again, gentlemen, but we have urgent business to attend to.”

Kylo stood before Hux had finished speaking and stormed toward the door that led to the presidential office. It was the office Kylo’s own mother had once coveted, reserved for the leader of the free galaxy. Now it was Kylo’s, and he should have taken more satisfaction in this fact than he did.

It was a spacious and luxurious room, full of light from the floor to ceiling windows. It overlooked the central boulevard of Coruscant’s administrative district. Kylo was not in the mood for gazing, however. He collapsed into his desk chair and pressed his fingers to his pounding temples.

Hux was right behind him, but the cordial attitude dropped as soon as the door had closed. “What in blaze’s name is wrong with you?”

“It’s too much,” Kylo said. “They’re nothing but complainers. Every time I attempt to appease their petty concerns, ten more pop up in their place!”

Hux barked out a laugh. “Well, yes. Welcome to politics, Ren.”

Kylo let out an impatient sigh. Hux was rarely sympathetic when Kylo became too overwhelmed for the demands of his office. It made Kylo want to reach out in the Force and tighten a fist around the Prime Minister’s neck – but that would do little good. Hux was his only mentor left, now that Snoke was dead, his link to the Knights of Ren severed. And he was the only person Kylo could trust. After he’d declared himself Supreme Leader, Hux had helped him consolidate power, quash the tiny opposition that had remained, and maintain order in the galaxy.

Honestly, Kylo had not thought ruling would be so difficult. He’d heard the stories over and over from his parents, his uncle Luke, his New Republic history textbooks – destroyed now, replaced with more favorable lore approved by Hux – about the Empire and Darth Vader’s rise. How many times had he heard the words from Luke’s own mouth? _Join me, and we shall rule the galaxy together, as father and son_.

Young Kylo – still Ben Solo then – had never understood why Luke had said no. The offer sounded wonderful, and noble. His own father, a glorified smuggler, had rejected power and responsibility Kylo’s whole life. All he’d wanted, in the end, was a few cheap thrills and a piece of junk starship, whom he’d loved more than his wife.

“She’s not a piece of junk,” said his father’s voice, just behind his left ear.

Kylo yelped and leapt out of his seat, turning violently to look for Han Solo. He was there, just for a split second – until Kylo blinked, and realized it was his own translucent reflection, breathing heavily, in the window pane overlooking the street.

“Ren!” Kylo whirled again, and there was Hux, his blue eyes wide in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Kylo mumbled, shaking his head as if to knock water from inside his ear. “I just slept badly last night.”

“Again?” Hux’s voice was softer than usual.

“How can I sleep, when the galaxy’s falling apart before our eyes?” Kylo said, gesturing dramatically in the direction of the audience chamber. “Did I hear right? Food riots? Civil war? Terrorists? I thought your army had locked all of that down.”

“We have,” Hux said drily. “Several times. That’s the problem with small insurgencies. Like womprats, they scamper easily in and out of the sand dunes.”

“Well, what do we have to do to stop them? Hold more public executions?” Those had been more grisly than Kylo had envisioned, full of emaciated, tear-stained former Resistance members on their way to the gallows. It had put his stomach in knots, searching the condemned for one particular face, and feeling relieved when he hadn’t seen her. 

“Relax,” Hux said, holding up his palms. “It’s all local, decentralized planetside rebellions. There’s no unified Resistance anymore. Leia Organa is dead. We’ve regulated the press. The First Order is secure. The regime is messy, but it’s stable.” He paused, watching Kylo closely. Kylo concentrated in the Force, probing Hux’s thoughts. _Which is more than I can say for you_.

Normally, such a thought crime would amount to treason, but Kylo needed Hux too much. And Hux needed him – he was the public strongman of the First Order, keeping the peace by reputation. Kylo exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I thought this would be easier,” he admitted.

The ghost of a smile crossed Hux’s lips. “We all do, when we’re younger men. You’re learning.” He motioned toward Kylo’s chair. “Sit. You’re making _me_ nervous standing all huffy like that.”

Kylo sat back down, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Maybe he was simply too stressed. Hux joined sat as well, in the high-backed chair reserved for esteemed guests.

“Come, Ren. The concerns of those men are just squabbles. We must look at the bigger picture. There are more pressing matters out there.” He took a deep breath. “Ones we, as leaders, must face head on.”

Kylo, whose headache had just begun to retreat, raised an eyebrow. All this maneuvering to calm him down, and Hux comes at him like this? “Such as?”

Hux leaned forward, folding his hands and pressing them to his lips. “Well, there’s the issue of the approaching delegation from the Hapes Cluster.”

“The Hapes Cluster? So soon?” He’d heard about that a while back. It had seemed like a trifling concern, nothing to worry about for months.

“It’s coming faster than you’d think. And unlike your petty rebellions, the Hapes Cluster comprises 63 systems and has an impressive Navy. During the war, we were lucky their isolationist policies kept them from getting involved. Given their previous alliance with the New Republic, that could have spelled disaster for the First Order. Now they want to play nice, and meet with the new Supreme Leader.”

“Yes, I remember all this from the briefing,” Kylo said, annoyed. “ _And_ , I’ll have you know, I know plenty about the Hapans. My mother almost married King Isolder for the alliance, back in the early New Republic days.” That was a family story that got told a lot, too. His father often playfully griped that his mother could have married a literal prince, but chose a scoundrel. Then, when Ben was older and their marriage more fragile, the griping had not been so playful.

Hux snorted out a laugh. “Ah, yes, that’s true, isn’t it? Before both of our times, I’m afraid. What a different galaxy that would have been.” He paused, to muse on it for a second, then shook his head. “Well, no matter. The point is, now it’s our turn to give them a good first impression. Your usual, ah, _tactics_ , don’t make for good diplomacy, and it’s far more dangerous to anger the Hapans than to work with them. Do you understand me, Ren?” He gave Kylo a pointed look.

Kylo threw his hands up in the air. “All right, fine. I make nice with their delegation and we get trade and cooperation, is that it?”

“It’s not that simple,” Hux said, sighing.

“What is it? There’s not a marriage proposal on the table for _me_ , is there?” Kylo scoffed.

“Heavens, no. But given the Hapans’ strict matriarchal culture, a little, ah, _finesse_ , might be in order.”

“I have finesse,” Kylo protested, and he didn’t need Force sensitivity to tell that Hux was stifling a laugh.

“I’m not even touching that one,” Hux said blithely, “but if you haven’t noticed, nearly our entire leadership is men. Human men.”

Kylo blinked, attempting to understand Hux’s meaning. “Well, _I’m_ not the one doing the hiring around here.”

Hux shook his head. “The point is, a little deference might go a long way, as well as a, shall we say, ‘feminine’ touch?”

Kylo narrowed his eyes at Hux. He leaned back in his seat, crossed one leg over the other, and lifted his chin. “Are you telling me to get a girlfriend?”

“I have a short list of respectable suitresses ready. You’re the Supreme Leader and an eligible bachelor. Any number of them could prove a diplomatic—”

“I’m not interested,” Kylo snapped, and the headache was back in full force. 

“Ren, it’s been four years. When are you going to get over this silly crush on a rebel girl from some trash heap?”

“I _said_ , I’m not interested,” Kylo growled, with enough anger that the datapads and knickknacks on his desk rumbled.

Hux sighed, and leaned back in his own seat. “Fine. Let’s just hope your inimitable personality and charm works on the Hapan delegate.”  

“Who are they sending, anyway?” Kylo might as well put the intel agencies to use, find out something about them.

“Princess Tenel Ka herself, in fact.”

“ _Tenel Ka_?”

Hux’s ginger brows shot skyward. “You’ve heard of her, then?”

Heard of her? “I used to know her. Back in…” Kylo shut his mouth quickly, swallowing hard. “The Jedi Academy.” It was easily twenty years ago now, but he still had a vivid mental image of her, maybe when they’d both been around twelve: wavy red hair, bright green eyes, that matter-of-fact air about her. He’d known she was the heir to the Hapan throne, the daughter of Prince Isolder, the man his mother had chosen not to marry. But Tenel Ka had the nature of a warrior, and been so dedicated to her Jedi training that he’d had a tough time picturing her ruling a kingdom. “I thought she must be dead, after the massacre with the Knights of Ren…” He thought, maybe, in his rage, she’d been one of the ones he’d slain himself on that terrible rainy night.

“Apparently not. She escaped and was whisked away back to the Hapan homeworld. The royal family kept it a secret for a long time, I understand, in case Snoke and your former battalion wanted to track her down. But now that he’s dead, I suppose they’re cautiously optimistic about the future. You should really read more of your intel datapads, or you’d know this already.”

Kylo shook his head, trying to clear it of bad memories. “Do you think they’re sending her deliberately? Because we used to know each other?”

Hux shrugged. “Probably. The Hapan royals are known for their shrewd politicking. Which is why,” he narrowed his eyes at Kylo, “you would do well to follow my advice.”

“I’m not dating some floozy to impress a girl I haven’t seen since puberty,” Kylo retorted.

“Just _think_ about it,” Hux said, over his objections. He stood and removed a datapad from within his coat. Placing it down on the edge of Kylo’s desk, he said, “Here is the list of women, if you’d like to peruse them.”

Kylo crossed his arms and grunted. “How barbaric.”

“Ah yes, you certainly set the standard for enlightenment, don’t you?” Hux quipped. “It wouldn’t even have to be permanent. Just a temporary alliance to create good optics for the Hapans.” He sighed, tugging lighting on a gold chain fastened to his waistcoat. He carried an antique timepiece for show, but generally only made use of it when he wanted to make a point. Gazing at the clock face, he said, “Now, I must go tend to those responsibilities you so expertly shirked. We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure.”

Hux took his leave as breezily as he entered, leaving Kylo sulking alone in the silence of his office. Faint traffic noises permeated from outside; he could hear the long lines of hover cars and repulsor trains, as well as the packed pedestrian traffic. Having grown up in the administrative sector, he was used to the ambient noise, but at times the droning made the pressure inside his skull worse.

He stood, abruptly, and took deliberate care not to look at the datapad full of women Hux had left for him. He turned to the window, staring out at the ambling crowds below. Coruscant’s population was growing again, now that the war had been over for a few years. He saw more humans instead of aliens now than he remembered from his childhood. Non-humans were encouraged to stay in the lower levels; not a policy he cared much about, but ones Hux’s Old Imperial allies seemed keen on. But the administrative sector had always been wealthy and cosmopolitan, and today seemed like any other day in that regard. Strangely, it brought him no joy to look upon his own domain like this.

Kylo closed his eyes, reaching out into the Force with his mind. He tried cross the vast distances of the universe, searching for that beacon in the darkness.

“Rey.” He both dreaded and savored saying her name aloud. “Rey?” _Hear me, Rey. This time, please hear me_.

Nothing. Whether it was with the death of Snoke or some other phenomenon, his Force connection to Rey was gone. Regardless, every so often he tried again, just in case. It was always in vain. She might even be dead herself, a statistic of insurgents killed in one of the First Order’s military reports.

“Ben,” said a girl’s voice, full of horror. “Ben, you killed them all.”

Kylo jumped, sucking in a panicked breath. He spun around, hand going for his lightsaber, though he hadn’t needed to.

The office was empty. It was only his mind that was full of ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I saw The Last Jedi, there's a few things I've been dying to see play out in the next film that I doubt Disney will give us. I grew up with the Star Wars EU novels coursing through my veins and the space politics just haven't been the films' strong suit, in my opinion. So when the credits rolled on The Last Jedi, one of the first things that popped into my head was: "How on earth is Kylo going to pull off being Supreme Leader?" 
> 
> Well... kinda like this, I imagined. 
> 
> Things escalated from there. 
> 
> Also, I have embarked on rereading the EU novels that were so dear to me during my formative years, and I 100% blame my recent consumption of The Courtship of Princess Leia for the inclusion of Hapes in this story. As well as my love for Tenel Ka's character when I read the Young Jedi Knights series about a thousand years ago. The concern I'll have to track down a used copy of one of those books to have any idea how to write her is real. I guess I'm going full Christopher Nolan on my take on the new series. Pull from everything you love, ignore what you don't! That's how to deal with a franchise as big and messy and glorious as Star Wars, I'm convinced.


	2. Nothing to Lose But Our Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Poe are far from home.

Sump was worse than Jakku, and that was saying something.

Rey had seen her fair share of the galaxy in the last few years – well, mostly the outer reaches – but she still got a fluttery excited feeling in her stomach when the _Millennium Falcon_ dropped out of hyperspace and a brand new planet filled the viewscreen. It was as if destiny had cashed in on all the years she’d spent daydreaming in her little desert hovel. She’d seen worlds big and small: massive gas giants and tiny, tidally locked pebbles, and set foot on a fair share of them – the ones hospitable to humans, anyway. Usually to leave again, quickly, on account of the price on her head. But she never stopped taking that first step out of the ship and looking around in wonder, stunned that she was actually out in the universe, _living_.

But Sump was difficult to take in and appreciate. The humidity was so intense her hair had moistened as soon the hatch opened, and in trudging from their landing site to the nearest settlement, her clothes became sticky and clinging. The sky was a repressive, swirling yellow, even as dusk fell, and word was that spending too much time out on the marshes could kill you.

The native species, the Nuknogs, were shorter than Rey, with long necks, beaks, and scaly hides in gray, tan, or purple. Most were miners by trade, and they were friendly enough. In the tiny open air market that served as the center of the damp, dilapidated town, they were greeted cordially, even with curiosity. According to Poe, thousands of years of galactic oppression had left the Nuknogs disadvantaged and desperate. Most were exploited by human-run mining conglomerates, or else were so intent upon leaving Sump that they sold themselves into slavery to get offworld. That was a situation that Rey, even at her most downtrodden, could not imagine embracing. It was difficult to watch the Nuknogs, going in and out of their squat, circular dwellings. Their small eyes hid the depths of their suffering.

But as Poe often reminded her, the most despairing were usually the ones most receptive to their message.

This was what brought them to a dingy tavern on the fringe of Sump’s largest settlement, a poorly-lit establishment with air just as stifling inside as out. The entire place was visible from the entrance. The patrons were about eighty percent Nuknog, most of them off a shift in the nearby lommite mine, their jumpsuits dusty and their spirits low. A few humans were among them, as well as a handful of other species. Rey spotted one Ithorian and a Wookiee in a dark corner. It seemed Sump would take anyone down enough on their luck. 

“You first,” Poe urged her, his voice low in her ear.

They had been perfecting their entry into such places. It was better to make it look like they’d arrived separately, that nothing they did or said was scripted. 

Rey nodded and set off, walking coolly through the tavern toward the bar. She’d been in enough dives to know how to blend in. With her hair up in an unassuming bun, her clothes and boots the color of dirt, she could have been one of the miners herself. She slid onto a barstool, ordered an ale she didn’t intend to drink, and waited.

Poe Dameron entered a few minutes later, and unlike with Rey, everyone turned to look. Whereas Rey could fade into obscurity, Poe knew how to shine. The moist air gave his skin a healthy glow, and his hair curled with aggressive abandon. He wore his brown flight jacket with its vintage Rebel Alliance patch on the sleeve. Between that, his five o’clock shadow and intense dark eyes, he was captivating. While Rey worried about cowlicks and pit stains, Poe looked like he’d been born on Sump, and had been sauntered into to this cantina his whole life. He met gazes, flashed smiles, and said hello in both Basic and Nuknog, which he’d been studying during their light speed jump from Isde Naha. A few ladies swooned. A few men did too.

Poe took his seat at the opposite end of the bar from Rey. “Hey barkeep, what’s on tap?”

The barkeep, who had just served Rey her sweating glass of ale, was a human. He rattled off a list of names Rey knew neither of them recognized, but Poe picked one with enthusiasm. “Locally brewed, am I right?”

“Right in my own backyard,” said the Barkeep, with a laugh.

He poured Poe a frothy green concoction, which he threw back without hesitation and then praised as the best drink in the Outer Rim. Rey thought about asking for a glass of water, but worried about the quality, given the nearby marshes. She took a tiny sip of ale, trying to wet her throat. It tasted stale and sour. 

“Stranger,” said one of the Nukrogs to Poe. He spoke Basic accented with deep, guttural vowels. “You come from where?” 

Poe grinned and raised an index finger toward the ceiling. “The stars, my friend.”

A human, companion to the Nukrog who had spoken, let out a mirthless laugh. “Why would you come to a dump like this?”

This raised a round of laughter in the room. “Sump the dump!” became a brief chant, until Poe raised his green beer in a toast. “I like seeing what every corner of the galaxy has to offer. I see you have fine folk and fine booze, and so far Sump is all right by me.”

It was a stirring speech, and Rey provided an applause that got several others around her going.

“Haaaa,” said a Nukrog, his vibrating vocal chords stretching out the word. “You are first traveler in many time to say this.”

“Indeed I must be,” Poe said, turning to face the growing interest of the crowd. “I hear you have been left behind in the dirt for ages here on Sump.”

“It’s our lot in life,” sighed the Barkeep. “Ever since the mining corporations moved in. It was them who poisoned the marshes, you know. A thousand years ago, our sky was clear, and we could see the stars.”

“That’s terrible,” Rey blurted, and although her reaction had been genuine, Poe shot her a surreptitious wink. He was much better at working a crowd, but the stories they heard in their travels often broke her heart. She had considered Jakku the bottom of the barrel, and was constantly proven wrong.

 “Aye, lass,” the Barkeep said, turning his weathered face toward Rey. “It’s a real sad tale. Cut life expectancy on Sump by half. We work in the bigwigs’ mines till we drop. Meanwhile, their own pollution from the factories are what’s killing the planet.”

 “But why would they do that?” Rey asked, incensed. 

“Why else? Credits,” droned the Nuknog on the barstool beside her, who had all but buried his oblong face in his drink. “They take and take all we give, and have the riches not to care what happens to us.”

Poe sidled up next to him, his eyes alight. He gazed deep into the Nukrog’s face. “And aren’t you sick of it?” His voice, smooth and passionate, carried to the back of the tavern.

“Sick?” the Nuknog scoffed. “Stranger, why does my feeling matter?”

“Because you, good sir, are an individual,” Poe said, clapping him on the back. “You are a sentient life form and you deserve to be treated like one.”

“Haaaa. Tell our overseers that.”

“Maybe you should tell them yourself, my friend.”

“They would never listen.”

“Perhaps not,” Poe agreed. “But I could help you make them listen.”

The Nuknog’s heavy eyelids half closed. Rey couldn’t tell if this meant he was interested or horrified by the suggestion. “How?” he asked.

This was the moment they’d both been waiting for. Rey pressed the soles of her boots against the stool’s footrest, ready to pounce to her feet.

Poe carefully reached inside his flight jacket and produced a bundle of pamphlets printed on flimsiplast. On the cover was a stylized fist raised defiantly into the air, and below it, printed in both Basic and Nuknog read: _The Force’s Will._ He handed one to the Nuknog at the bar, and one to the Barkeep, and kept passing them to anyone who would take them. As he did, Rey slipped from her seat, quietly making sure copies made the rounds to the back of the tavern.

While several patrons considered the pamphlet, the Barkeep burst out laughing. “‘The Force’s Will?’ Is this some kind of joke?”

“No joke,” Poe assured him. “Just the name of our organization.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“Yeah, well, we’re new,” Poe said. They’d sat around for ages, trying to come up with a name that sounded more proactive than reactionary. _No more Rebel Alliance, no more Resistance_ , Poe had declared. _We have to assert our own identity, not define ourselves in opposition to them._  

“What _is_ will of Force?” asked one of the Nuknogs.

This was Rey’s chance. She got the nod from Poe and felt a flash of nerves. She’d been rehearsing possible responses to this question for days. She cleared her throat, and as eyes swirled toward her, she felt the sweat pooling on her damp brow. “Its will is to help you.”

Everyone stared at her, startled. It was as though they hadn’t noticed her there before at all, even though she stood inches from Poe. Laughter rocked the bar.

“Girl, Jedi talk big, not walk big,” said the Nuknog on the barstool. “They _never_ help.”

“They’re all dead now, anyhow,” said the Barkeep.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said the Ithorian in the back.

“I don’t mean the Jedi,” Rey insisted. “I mean the Force.”

“Pssh,” said a human in a nearby booth. “What’s the difference? The Force ain’t even real, probably. I never seen it perform any miracles for _me_.”

Rey glanced to Poe, who nodded. She closed her eyes and concentrated, seeking out the flux of energy that flowed unseen all around them. He wanted to see a miracle, did he? On that score, she could oblige.

Slowly, she levitated off the ground. It was a small trick, but it had a wow factor. She spread her arms, gracefully simulating wings.  

“We want to change that,” Rey said as she rose in the air, with more hesitance than she liked. “We want to gather people who can do better than the Jedi. People with Force powers, and people without them. People who are unseen, beaten down. Who want to be free from tyranny.”

She’d cribbed a bit of language from Poe at the end there, but it had sounded pretty inspiring in her head. Hovering about a foot off the ground, she finally opened her eyes. Everyone stared at her, slack jawed. Rey broke into a smile, feeling a surge of pride. 

“Freak,” someone called.

The word struck her as if someone had slung a rock. She lost her concentration and dropped to the dusty floor. She landed hard on her right ankle and stumbled, pain rippling up her leg.

“Force freak!” someone else cried, louder.

“Parlor tricks and scams!”

“Witch!”

“Hucksters, both of them!”

“Okay, okay,” Poe said, holding up his hands, although it was clear the situation was getting away from them. “Everyone calm down. We just want to help. The First Order is nothing but another Empire, an oppressive regime. They’ll never make your lives better—”

“ _No one_ makes our lives better,” spat the Barkeep. “I seen three galactic governments come and go in my lifetime. The Empire, the New Republic, the First Order, it’s all the same in the end. The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor. Least in the confusion we slip through the cracks, get a little breathing room.”

“You don’t understand,” Rey said. She stormed up to the bar, her ankle singing with pain. She pressed her hands to the counter and glared at the Barkeep. “The First Order is terrible. You haven’t met the man running it. He’s a cruel, brutal monster.” She turned to the rest of the tavern, pointing her finger at the crowd. “He _will_ make your lives worse, I’m sure of it.”

“Kylo Ren?” the Barkeep shrugged. “Ain’t he the son of the Rebel Alliance lady? The one-time princess who ran both the New Republic _and_ the so-called Resistance? Out here on the Rim, they all seem the same. Ain’t no difference between them and the mining companies bleeding us dry.”

“How dare you,” Rey spat. “Leia Organa was a _hero_.”

“Rey,” Poe said quietly.

He had a way of knowing when the cause was lost, but the wound inside Rey had barely closed. All that time she had spent, trying to find the human being in Kylo Ren, only to watch him become Supreme Leader who now ruled the galaxy with an iron fist. She’d watched it kill Leia slowly, knowing that her son was finally, forever lost. There was no Lord Snoke pulling the strings anymore, manipulating a vulnerable boy. Kylo Ren was an evil of his own making. Rey and Poe and the tiny group they’d gathered over the last four years were the only hope to stop him.

“ _Please_ ,” Rey said, turning in a circle, trying to meet the eyes of the Sumpian tavern-goers. They all averted their gazes. “We need your help. How can you be such cowards?”

As she turned, her accusatory finger leveled at someone just feet away. The Ithorian and his Wookiee companion had stood from their booth and were advancing slowly.

“Force freak’s awful pushy,” said the Ithorian, cracking his knuckles. “Must think she’s all high and mighty, with her special powers.” The Wookiee beside him roared in agreement.

“Rey,” Poe said again. He had drawn closer to her, and now put his hand on her elbow. He lowered his voice. “We should go before this gets ugly.”

“I can take them,” Rey said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and prove their prejudices right,” Poe muttered back. “It’s not worth it.”

Several scowling patrons stood, ripping their pamphlets to shreds and dropping them to the floor. The Barkeep reached under the bar, withdrawing a vibrostaff. Rey and Poe bolted for the exit, fleeing into the steamy night.

 

* * *

 

“Well, that could have gone better,” Poe announced once they’d made it safely back to the _Falcon._  

“You don’t say.” Rey was out of breath. Her shirt and trousers stuck to her in saturated patches, and her ankle throbbed with pain. She collapsed against the round bulkhead and sucked in glorious regulated air. “I was a disaster.” 

Poe punched the controls to lift the hatch door and cast her a sidelong glance. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. They were a tough sell from the start. This far from the Core, and— hey, are you all right?”

Rey had tried to push off from the bulkhead, but putting weight on her ankle made her stumble. “I’m fine. I just came down too hard on my ankle earlier.”

“Hang on, come here,” Poe said. He drew her arm over his shoulder and supporter her weight. “We gotta get that looked at.”

He helped her, limping, into the _Falcon_ ’s common area and to the the circular bench with the holotable. They’d spent a lot of time here together the last few months, playing the old hologames while waiting out the hyperspace jumps. She lay back on the bench with her right foot dangling off the edge. Poe knelt in front of her and undid the laces on her boot. He slowly eased it off her ankle, and Rey hissed in pain. The joint had swelled up and turned a reddish purple.

“Just a sprain, it looks like,” Poe said, and Rey was relieved. A broken bone this far out from their base camp could be a problem. “I’ll go get a bacta pack.”

He disappeared into the galley, where they kept all manner of supplies, including first aid. He returned with the squishy pack filled with bacta, and applied to the ankle. The cold felt good against her hot, bloated skin. “Keep it there for about an hour, and see how it feels.”

Rey leaned forward, putting a hand over the pack to steady it as Poe sat opposite her on the bench. 

“Thanks.” She was grateful. Back on Jakku, there’d been a few times when she’d taken spills, or cut herself while crawling around in the old, gutted Star Destroyers. She’d been alone, and every second had mattered in ensuring her own survival. She hadn’t quite realized just how dangerous her life had been back then. If she’d died, it would probably have been weeks or months before some other foolhardy soul had discovered her. Nowadays, Poe was there for her, confident and unflinching. Rey wondered if this was what it felt like, having a family.

“Whew.” Poe leaned back, combing his fingers through the tight, damp curls framing his face. “I guess we should probably strike Sump off the list, huh? I can only take so much of this climate. Not sure I want to try again in another city.”

“I certainly don’t. They were positively ghastly tonight.” Rey shook her head in disappointment. “I really thought you were getting somewhere, but then I blew it.”

“I told you, it wasn’t you. You did all the right stuff. It’s them. They’re too suspicious of all the old institutions that have failed them.”

“Did you hear what the barkeep said? That Kylo Ren and Leia were _practically the same_?” Rey let out a noise of disgust.

“Look at it from his point of view. When the Empire was in charge, his planet was forgotten. When the New Republic was in charge, his planet was forgotten. And now, even with the First Order, nothing has changed. At least not yet.”

“But it will,” Rey retorted. “The Bothan massacre? Labor camps starting back up on Kashyyyk? Deporting non-humans from the upper levels of Coruscant? Who knows what they’ll do to the poor Nuknogs, when the First Order fleet arrives one day.”

“And we know about that why? Because we’ve got intel sources and darknet backchannels. But if you turn on the holonet, everything is hunky dory. The Supreme Leader is maintaining order where the New Republic splintered and imploded in on itself.” Poe’s words were matter-of-fact, but frustration edged into his voice. He leaned forward, propping up his elbow on the holotable and leaning his chin against his fist. “We have to do something to overcome the media blackout. Otherwise this far from the action, we’re just going to come off as crackpots and rabble-rousers.”

This was their first time delving into the Outer Rim. After the big defeat on Crait that had put the nail in the New Republic’s coffin, the last couple of years had yielded moderate success for the Resistance in the Mid-Rim – at least until the First Order discovered they were being harbored by the government in Bothan Space. That had led to deployment of the First Order fleet, followed by a firebombing of the lunar capital around the gas giant Bothawui. The surviving Bothan leaders had been captured and publicly executed on Coruscant as traitors to the regime, alongside any remaining Resistance fighters. That had all been streamed live on the holonet, with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren presiding over the slaughter. Rey had watched, aghast, from in front of the holoviewer on the _Falcon_.

A handful, like Rey and Poe, had escaped Bothawui. Still others were missing in action: Finn, her beloved first offworld friend; Chewbacca, the gentle giant and her last link to Han Solo; Rose Tico, the scrappy, quick-thinking mechanic; and technically General Leia Organa herself. She had stayed behind to assure someone was arming the anti-ballistic cannon that allowed for the few like Rey and Poe to escape, and the entire Bothan capital had reportedly been made into a crater.

After that devastation, for awhile they had all but given up. But Poe Dameron possessed a fire that could not be extinguished. He was always thinking, planning, trying to put the broken pieces back together. The old strategies had to die. They needed a new strategy for a new era. Something that would unite all the peoples of the galaxy against tyranny, not lead them to petty backstabbing and infighting. Rey had watched this fire grow in him, and found it infectious. She needed something to believe in after losing so much. She could see it, Poe as a leader – not just of a resistance, but a revolution.

She’d tried to help him as best she could. She didn’t have the advantage of being born into the rebellion against the Empire, or a Core world upbringing, or civics and tactical lessons from the New Republic military academy. But she had something that might be able to inject something bigger and more meaningful into the fight: the ancient Jedi texts she’d stolen from Luke Skywalker on Ahch-To.

She’d been trying to study them herself, improve her Force ability without having to adhere to the flawed, baggage-laden Jedi code. It was slow-going. The texts were written in Basic so archaic, she could sometimes barely recognize the letters. Reading had never been her forte. On Jakku, she’d attended a schoolhouse for orphans run by a well-meaning but senile spinster who hadn’t gotten around to teaching them the Aurebesh alphabet until Rey was ten. Machines spoke louder to Rey than writing. Anything she could break apart, put back together, make work with her own two hands – those required quick wits, and instruction manuals often just held you back.

But she was trying. Trying to do the teaching to herself that Luke Skywalker had refused to do. If there was one message in the Jedi texts that was clear and simple, it was this: the Force was for everyone. Some were more adept at manipulating it than others, but it surrounded, flowed through, and bound all lifeforms in the galaxy together, without exception.

Poe called this notion “egalitarian,” but Rey just thought it was lovely. In the Force, she, the orphan daughter of junk traders, was just as worthy as the heir to the Skywalker dynasty.

And so, The Force’s Will was born.  

They’d pitched the idea to their remaining contacts, who’d mostly been on board. There were enough who had been disgruntled by the changing regime – especially those who used to work New Republic intelligence – who could provide them with information but weren’t the type to fight on the front lines. For that, since their numbers had dwindled so much, they needed ordinary folk, sick of the status quo, willing to fight for their freedom.

Now they just needed to get everyone to listen.

“So what do you think, should we move on to the Virgillia system?” Poe had grabbed a datapad and pulled up their current coordinates. “The colonies on the seventh planet had a history of rebellion during the Imperial period. Might be more fertile ground than here.”

Rey pursed her lips, trying to shift into a more upright position without jostling her ankle. “But isn’t going farther out just going to be more of the same?”

“Possibly. Maybe we should back up to Isde Naha. They liked us there. Do some more networking, then take the Corellian Trade Spine to Berrol’s Don…”

Rey tensed, an ice-cold shiver running up her back. Her mind became a locked vault, and someone was trying to break in. She inhaled sharply, and concentrated on reinforcing the locks, leaning against the metaphorical barred door. She had experience with the real thing on Jakku when targeted by vandals. It was easier to look like you weren’t home, and that there was nothing worth stealing in the first place.

After a few seconds, the sensation passed. Rey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She was perspiring again, even though the _Falcon’s_ temperature controls made the atmosphere cool and dry.

“What is it?” Poe gave her a concerned look.

“Nothing,” Rey said, too quickly, but he didn’t push her on it. This happened to her periodically. The mental walls she’d constructed by following the Jedi texts sometimes had an intruder at the gate. She couldn’t be sure who it was, but of course she had ideas.

She hoped it looked to him like she was dead. She wanted him to despair, thinking he was responsible for her death along with his own parents’. He deserved no flicker of hope. She wanted him to suffer, believing he’d been her downfall.

“Yes,” she said to Poe. “Let’s go back to Isde Naha. We can get more done there.”

Rey had learned letting your anger and hatred fester was pointless. Instead, she would do everything she could to set the forces in the universe right. Then, one day, she would stand again before Kylo Ren, and savor the look in his eyes as she made him pay for everything he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew a guy from Sump. We called him Sump, even though that wasn’t his name. He always said it was a shitty planet, but it wasn’t until I looked it up I realized how shitty. Shout out to Sump, both of them. 
> 
> Inspiration for the name “The Force’s Will” comes from Narodnaya Volya, or “The People’s Will,” a 19th century Russian revolutionary group that was a precursor to Lenin and the Socialist Revolutionaries. I’m studying Russian history and I couldn’t resist. Visual inspiration for their logo is, of course, [this](https://openclipart.org/image/2400px/svg_to_png/168030/fist-2.png). Though in googling, I see I wasn’t [ the only one](https://res.cloudinary.com/teepublic/image/private/s--NDOJLPzr--/t_Preview/b_rgb:191919,c_limit,f_jpg,h_630,q_90,w_630/v1494867941/production/designs/1603843_1.jpg) to the have the idea. I’m here for it.
> 
> A mad desire of mine after watching The Last Jedi was to get a sequel with Poe Dameron as a full scale [revolutionary leader](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b9/74/a0/b974a01866e8663f629980e2d1ab341f.jpg), kind of a space [Che Guevara](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/be/0d/50/be0d50552fd0e19d3061efa6e05d646b.jpg). It’s another thing I’m not sure Disney will give us, so I’m going wild with it in my own private playground. He’s got the charisma to amass a cult of personality, that’s for sure. 
> 
> I love Leia, but for this story to work she can’t be around. I gave her a hero’s death, and sincerely apologize. Maybe there’ll be another fic, at another time. As for those “missing in action” … who knows, they may yet show up.
> 
> I’m trying not to dunk on TLJ in these notes, but I struggled with understanding the message Rian Johnson conveyed about the Force in the film. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it pointless? Luke was so disillusioned, and Yoda said a bunch of stuff didn’t matter, but Rey did steal the Jedi texts at the end, so was there meant to be some kind of switcheroo? I do think there’s a difference between religious doctrine and the institutions of power that get built around them, so I decided Rey eschewing the fallen Jedi Order and going right to the source for guidance was a decent starting point. We’ll see where that goes. 
> 
> This incredible fan-made [map of the galaxy](https://i.redd.it/s74gby7ikouy.jpg) helped me figure out where Rey and Poe were in this chapter, and where they’re going. It’s probably my reference for everything going forward. 
> 
> If you’re still with me, thanks for reading.


	3. Shards of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prime Minister Hux voices his concerns.

As a young boy, Armitage Hux had bright visions of the future. The imperial legacy of the galaxy would be restored, and he would possess a central role in the glorious reconstruction of what the Rebel Alliance had destroyed.

Now he was in the thick of such things, and they weren’t as glamorous as he’d pictured. He marched down the marble corridor of the top floor of Coruscant’s imperial palace, dodging domestic servants as he furiously typed one-handed on a datapad. The damned thing kept beeping at him, prompting him to check his voice messages. He was trying to dial in when another call filled the screen. Mitaka. Hux hit the speaker button and snapped, “What is it?”

“Sir, the Hapan delegation wants a date confirmation for the welcome ceremony—”

“Yes, tell them we’re working on it. And cancel my after-lunch appointment. I’m in a private meeting with the Supreme Leader.”

“Of course, sir,” Mitaka’s voice replied. There was a second of timid hesitation, then: “Ah, I thought that was happening at lunch hour?”

“Yes,” Hux said drily, gazing down the hall at the gilded doors to Kylo Ren’s penthouse. “So did I.”

They had been scheduled to dine at the administrative sector’s top seafood restaurant. Usually the wait list was six months long, as Coruscant had no ocean and all seafood was shipped in daily from Dac. The chef, of galaxy-wide renown, had planned to treat them to a private sampling which would then be served for the Hapan delegation, if it met their approval.

Except the Supreme Leader had never shown.

Hux hung up on Mitaka, sucked in a breath, and stormed with purpose toward the penthouse doors. In front of the entranceway, maids were re-hanging the red velvet curtains, never a good sign. Hux scrutinized the walls for any signs of lightsaber scorching. He saw none, but a uniformed Twi’lek was sweeping up crystal remnants of some decorative sideboard item. Perhaps it had just been a mild tantrum.

Hux approached the doors, which was flanked by two Praetorian Guards in their headache-inducing red robes and armor. When guarding Supreme Leader Snoke, the Praetorians had numbered only eight, but now that the First Order had absorbed the remnants of the New Republic military, the elite force had been expanded and were often seen guarding government buildings in the administrative sector – by Hux’s personal decree. One could never be too heavy-handed when demonstrating that peace had been restored. Of course, the guards were chosen from only the most loyal and capable bunch, usually hailing from old Imperial stock. And they’d been issued blaster rifles. Snoke’s insistence they’d only needed vibro-voulges had directly contributed to his own death.

“How is he?” Hux asked the guards.

“The Supreme Leader has asked not to be disturbed,” said the one on the left, voice tinny through the comm device in his helmet.

“Well, that’s too damn bad for him,” Hux said. “Open up.”

One advantage to handpicking the corps charged with protecting the Supreme Leader was that they were more likely to answer to Hux than Kylo Ren himself. With nary a hesitation, the guard on the right stood aside and hit a control panel button. The wide doors, ornately decorated with gold filaments, slid open. Hux took a calming breath and went inside.

One never knew what to expect inside Kylo’s quarters; it was akin to stepping inside an uncharted jungle. Hux did so did gingerly, careful to watch his feet. He waited until the door closed before moving. The lights were off, and the hallway dark. Hux suppressed a sigh. “Ren?”

No answer. He’d have to go looking, of course. He hated searching the younger man’s rooms. Like the lair of a wild beast, it could hold something ghastly. Hux’d had the place tastefully decorated for a holo-shoot a year or so ago, accompanied by an article which had run in all the major outlets. It had assured the commonwealth their new Supreme Leader was just like them, and had even included Kylo sitting on a sofa, hair neat and legs crossed, the grimace on his face nearly identical to a smile. The whole stunt had gone over well, the PR consultants had assured Hux, but they’d inflated approval rating numbers by thirty percent, just in case.

Hux turned a corner and found the living room. The lovely sofa from the holo-shoot had been overturned and lay by the bay window, currently the only source of light. Slash marks adorned the upholstery; stuffing was everywhere. Similar signs of carnage adorned the rest of the furniture, and Kylo was nowhere to be seen.

Hux saw no reason to keep his exasperation in check now. “ _Ren_? I’m not playing these games with you today.”

Still no answer. For a moment a pulse of panic threaded through Hux’s throat, but surely the Praetorians were monitoring life signs within the chambers. Kylo was in here; he was just being stubborn.

Hux passed several more empty and voluminous rooms, either untouched and collecting dust, like the kitchen, or in similar states of disrepair. Only the shrine to Kylo’s grandfather, Darth Vader, was spared. It sat the end of the hall, with the fallen Sith lord’s partially melted helmet sitting on a pedestal under transparisteel. He had never gotten the story from Kylo about how he’d managed to procure such a relic, but every time he saw it, Hux ached to have it put on display in the Imperial museum. He didn’t dare touch it, of course.

The only room left was Kylo’s bedroom, and the door was closed. The adjacent glowing panel showed that it was locked. Hux had no desire to gain entrance, in fact loathed the idea, but here he was. He rapped on the door. “Ren, for heaven’s sake. It’s me.” After his pounding faded, his voice softened. “Kylo. Let me in. Please.”

To his surprise, the door panel shifted from red to green, and the lock disengaged.

The bedchamber was accordingly dim. Hux had only seen it once before – the day of said holo-shoot. He’d stood with Kylo in front of the full-length mirror and coaxed him into a black tailcoat with a red silk handkerchief folded into the lapel, which had cost ten thousand credits and been tailor-made at one of the finest haberdasheries in the Core. While Kylo pawed at the fabric, struggling to find a graceful way to put it on, Hux gazed around at the regal columns, the antique furniture, the lovely reading nook with a real stone fireplace. He thought of that moment on the _Supremacy_ , when Kylo had lain at his feet, and Hux had, for the briefest of moments, reached for his blaster.

_Oh, bloody hell, give it here_ , he’d said, grabbing the tailcoat from Kylo and holding it out so that he could fit his arms in the sleeves. _And to think you’re the son of royalty, honestly._

The first thing Hux noticed when his eyes adjusted to the darkness was the glittering floor, which caught the thin beam of light coming from behind the drawn blinds. The once-grand mirror on the far wall had cracked and splintered, half of the glass now shards. Hux felt the panic return. The four-poster bed was unmade, but empty.

“Are you hurt?” Hux demanded, with more alarm than he’d intended. Life signs were one thing, but there were a million different ways to inflict lesser injuries on oneself. He’d never really considered the possibility before. Kylo had always exhibited such _outward_ emotions. It was too dark to see whether spots of blood also abounded, but Hux looked anyway, straining his eyes to for a clue of what had become of the volatile young man.

“No,” came the reply, always in a voice surprisingly deep for the behavior of its owner. Hux whirled and found him, curled in an easy chair. Kylo was dressed, at least, but his hair was uncombed, his jaw furry with patchy stubble. He appeared unharmed, although his eyes had a distant, glassy look to them. Hux let out a relieved laugh.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he quipped. “You could have just told me you wanted a remodel, you know.”

Kylo said nothing.

“You missed lunch,” Hux tried again. “Best seafood in the galaxy and you skipped right out. Glad it was for something as important as— what are you doing in here, exactly?”

Kylo looked at him, as if noticing for the first time that Hux was there. “I’m tired.”

Hux took a deep breath to steady himself. “Yes, well, we’re all tired around here, Ren. Running the galaxy is a tiring job. That doesn’t mean you can just let yourself go to pieces.” Probably not the best choice of words, given all the glass. “What happened to the mirror, by the way?”

Kylo blinked once, then looked over Hux’s shoulder toward its remains. He seemed genuinely surprised. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure,” Hux repeated. He went to the control panel next to the window so that he could raise the blinds. “Come now, let’s stop creeping in the dark and deal with this like adults—”

“ _Don’t_!” Kylo yelled as Hux’s hand grazed the panel. Hux yanked his fingers back, feeling the wave of energy carried with the plea. He was no Force mystic, but there were times when even a regular person could feel the tension bottled up inside Kylo Ren. The younger man grabbed either side of his head, pressing his palms against his temples. “The light. It hurts my head.” His face contorted with pain.

“Goodness.” Hux felt a strange flash of sympathy. He’d grown so used to dealing with the tantrums it hadn’t occurred that Kylo might be physically ill. Hux crossed the space between them and bent down, careful to lower his voice. “What is it, then? A migraine?”

Kylo nodded. His skin was pasty and had a sheen of sweat to it. Of course. Between that and the dazed eyes, he might very well have a fever. Why hadn’t Hux noticed it before? A medic would have to be summoned immediately. Hux reached for his datapad.

In a hoarse, pained whisper, Kylo said, “The voices. I can’t get them to stop.”

Hux’s finger froze above the call button. “What did you say?”

“They’re so loud sometimes, I can’t sleep. I can’t _think_.”

Hux slowly put his datapad back into his pocket. He rose to his full height, straightened his coat, scrubbed his palm down the length of his face. He knew he had to be very careful.

“Kylo, do you—” Hux hesitated, then pushed on, “do you hear them right now?”

Kylo nodded, and Hux sucked in a breath. Since the moment he’d entered the apartment, it had been quiet as a tomb.

“What are they saying?” Hux asked softly.

“I can’t—” Kylo tilted his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s hard to make out. Sometimes it’s only one or two, but right now—” He drew farther into the chair, bearing his teeth. “There’s so many. I’ve tried to use the Force to block them out, but they get through anyway.”

The more Hux heard of this, the less he liked. Some Force trickery was possible, though beyond his expertise – but if someone as powerful as Kylo Ren couldn’t stifle the signal, what did that mean?

“Do you recognize them?” Hux asked.

“Sometimes. Others, it’s— difficult.” Kylo met out a noise akin to a whimper. “A lot of the time, it’s… it’s my father.”

Hux felt a heaviness in his chest. He recognized this feeling from his boyhood, when he’d once come upon a mynock with a broken wing whilst on a walk with his father. The wretched creature had flopped about pitifully, trying again and again to take flight. When Armitage suggested they get help, Brendol Hux let out a caustic laugh. _There’s no help for it, lad. The best thing we can do is snap its neck and end its suffering._ Then he had demonstrated.

“Look, Ren,” Hux said, “why don’t you lie down? You’re right, you’ve been overworked, very stressed, it’s only natural that—”

Kylo dropped his hands from his face and sneered in Hux’s direction. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No,” Hux said emphatically, holding out his palms toward Kylo in a defensive stance. “No, Ren, I do not.” He swallowed thickly. “But the fact of the matter is, as you told me yourself, Han Solo is—”

“Dead,” Kylo cut in. “Yes, he is. But that would never stop him. I should have known he’d find other ways to torment me.”

Hux did not know what to say to that. When his own father had died, at least the abuse had ended. He was chilled by the thought of Brendol’s ghost lingering for years, haunting his psyche. He knew Kylo Ren was a troubled young man – everyone did – but how far might it go?

A few tense seconds passed before Hux tried speaking again. “Ren, listen to me. Perhaps – no, very likely – you’re right, and this is some sort of Force… thing. But who would we have to consult about it? Supreme Leader Snoke is dead, Luke Skywalker is dead, the Jedi are extinct, the other Knights of Ren have vanished. I think we ought to—”

“Rey,” Kylo said abruptly, and Hux’s blood ran cold. Two years he’d been trying to get Kylo to forget about that girl, a random rebel from a trash heap, and just like that her name rolled off his tongue, as if he thought of her constantly. Kylo leaned forward, the focus returning to his eyes as he stared up at Hux. “Rey could help. She has the Force. She was the last to see Skywalker alive. She must know something.”

“Kylo,” Hux said, “that rebel girl is very likely dead, too. Few Resistance members survived Bothawui, and the ones that did you had executed, remember?”

He remembered, of course. They had both overseen the public march to the gallows.

“Besides,” Hux reminded him, “she’s still officially wanted for the assassination of Supreme Leader Snoke.”

“All the more reason to find her, isn’t it?” Kylo insisted.

Hux sighed. “Now isn’t the time for a discussion about national security. I was _trying_ to say, what we should do is have you checked out thoroughly by a medical team. Don’t look at me like that,” he added, as Kylo’s expression twisted into a scowl. “We need to rule out other possibilities, yes? _You’re_ Supreme Leader now, don’t forget. You could be the target of all sorts of assassination attempts. It could be a slow-acting poison, a hallucinogenic drug, or who knows what else. At the Academy I read an account of Imperial ambassadors to Hensara being subjected to sonic wave attacks. One of the symptoms was crippling headaches, if I recall.” He gave Kylo a pointed look.

“Fine, _fine_ ,” Kylo said, waving his hands over his head, as if Hux was an annoying insect to be batted away. He seemed to be gaining more lucidity, and Hux found this heartening. “But no one finds out about the Force voices. Not even the doctors. Do you hear me, General?”

Hux smirked. “I’m not a general anymore, Ren. But as your most trusted adviser, I assure you this whole situation will be handled with the utmost sensitivity. No one need know the Supreme Leader feels under the weather. And if this _is_ a targeted attack, the fewer who know at this stage, the better – at least until we’ve gathered more intel. Now come on, you really ought to be in bed.”

He offered Kylo a hand and helped him to his feet, then guided him across the room to the four-poster bed, careful not to let him step on any shards of glass in his socked feet. Kylo was able to walk on his own, although he swayed slightly on a step or two. He lie down carefully, wincing as his head touched the pillow.

“I’ll go get you a glass of water, and make some calls,” Hux said. Kylo nodded faintly.

Hux walked calmly to the door and made sure it shut as quietly as possible. Then he stalked down the hall toward the kitchen, the datapad already dialing in his hand. He called medical as well as maintenance, since somebody really should clean up the mess. He yanked open cabinets with his free hand as he issued orders, frowning at the bare shelves beyond. Honestly, what did the boy subsist on, oxygen and rage? He finally found a cabinet that yielded a glass and filled it with tap water, leaving it on the counter as he finished making the arrangements. It wasn’t until he picked up the glass and saw the water inside ripple that he realized how badly his hands were shaking.

In the bedroom, Kylo had curled into a fetal position, buried under a blanket with only his aquiline nose visible. Hux put the water glass on the bedside table and cleared his throat. “The doctors are on their way. It will be a house call, very discreet.” He took a breath. He felt guilty, suddenly, for all that talk about assassinations and sonic attacks. “You’ll be all right, Ren. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise you.”

Kylo rolled over, removing the blanket from his head and reaching for the glass of water. The static electricity made some of his hair stand up from his scalp as he gulped down the liquid. When they’d first met, Hux had wondered why Kylo so often hid his face behind that stupid mask. Nowadays he understood: without it, Kylo looked too much like someone’s son.

“What if the doctors can’t help?” Kylo asked, over the rim of the glass. “What if only someone with the Force can?”

Hux sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll cross that hyperspace lane when we get to it.”

Kylo winced and closed his eyes. Hux wasn’t sure if this was a response to his words, or something only the younger man could hear.

“Remember, Ren, that Rey girl isn’t the only person in the galaxy strong with the Force. You’re about to meet another.” Kylo stared upward, tilting his head quizzically. Hux looked him right in the eyes, hoping this would tether him to reality. He spoke gently, but firmly. “Tenel Ka, the future Queen Mother of Hapes.”

 

* * *

 

“And? What did he say to that?” asked Phasma, taking a bite of another jumbo shrimp.

“He’d forgotten the whole business! _Months_ of planning and negotiating with the Hapan delegation, and he could barely call it to mind.” Hux raked an agitated hand through his copper hair.

They were seated in a secure dining room, empty but for themselves, in the back of The Dac House, the restaurant Hux had planned to dine at with Kylo earlier in the day. The walls were painted a deep aquamarine to simulate the color of the planet’s oceans, and the light fixtures were filled with liquid, making the light that fell on their small, round table murky and fluid. Mitaka had been able to reschedule for dinner, and its famed Mon Calamari chef could not have been happier to seat Prime Minister Hux and Director of Intelligence Phasma in the Supreme Leader’s place. They were at a table by the window, and the day’s heat had cooled to a refreshing breeze as the sun set over Coruscant’s administrative sector.

Phasma, no longer captain of the stormtrooper corps but head of the First Order’s intelligence apparatus, had been Hux’s first call after the doctors had arrived. He knew he had to talk to someone about this, and she always came first to mind. At times, it still felt strange to see her out of her gleaming armor, but Hux had come to prefer her this way. She wore her platinum blond hair closely cropped, dressed sharply, and had a penchant for bold lipsticks. She was dabbing the remains of today’s magenta pigment off with her cloth napkin as she chewed.

“So what do the doctors say?” Phasma asked.

“It’s too early to tell. They’ve ordered roughly a million tests, but that will take some time to process. He’s in no immediate danger, apparently.”

“That’s good. He’s going to need to be seen publicly quite soon for the delegation. It would be a terrible time for him to take a sudden holiday.” Phasma picked up her fork and speared a scallop off one of the many serving plates in front of them. “You should eat, Armitage. This spread is fantastic.”

Hux had barely been able to choke down the fishy hors d’oeuvres. The more he thought over the situation, the tighter the knots in his stomach wound. At first it had been difficult to believe this was more serious than Kylo’s usual mood swings, but now his mind produced infinite scenarios, all of them disastrous. He tried poking at a bit of squid with his fork, but couldn’t bring himself to put it in his mouth. How did those Mon Cals eat food that looked so much like themselves, anyhow?

Hux tossed down his fork in a huff. “What if he _has_ been drugged? Or worse, poisoned?” Phasma’s dark blue eyes met his with a knowing look. They both understood the gruesome consequences of a well-placed poison. “The galaxy’s so big, who knows what sort of unnamed agent could have been slipped in his drink, or put in his food?”

“I’ve personally vetted the entire palace staff,” Phasma reminded him. “But if you like, I can have catering questioned.”

Hux waved away the suggestion. “That’s not necessary. Yet. I’d rather not go tipping off any domestics that something might be amiss. You know how the gossip mill goes, and we haven’t completely tamped down the press. I don’t want any tabloids alight with the headline ‘Supreme Leader Terminally Ill.’”

He let out a pained sigh, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. His forehead throbbed just above his left eye, and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. He’d spent years of backbreaking work and sacrifice to establish the First Order as the dominant force in the galaxy. Things had just barely stabilized, the citizenry finally looking to their Supreme Leader not as a bloodthirsty militant, but a young leader with a long reign ahead of him. And now – if Kylo Ren fell, what of succession? What sort of factions might pop out of the woodwork, claiming legitimacy? Would it shake the house of cards he’d so painstakingly built?

“What are the odds he’s simply gone mad?” Phasma asked. “If I had five credits for every time I happened upon him on the _Finalizer_ talking to that melted helmet of Vader’s, I could retire early.”

To Hux’s surprise, he found himself smirking. “You _can_ retire early, you know. National hero and all that.”

She smiled coyly at him. He knew she would never do such a thing. She enjoyed her work too much.

Yet, the question remained. Madness. Kylo Ren would be far from the first ruler to have cracked under the strain, and no one who knew him could argue he’d been very balanced in the first place.

“He made me promise not to tell the medical staff about the voices he’s hearing,” Hux said, his voice low. Actually, Kylo had told him not to tell _anyone_ , but Hux did not consider Phasma to be just anyone. Telling her was like telling a mirror – she was, after all, Hux’s right hand. “He seems to think they’re linked to the Force somehow.”

Phasma made a noise of annoyance deep in her throat, taking a sip of chardonnay. When they’d been seated, Hux had declined a drink, but he was starting to think he needed one. He summoned a waiter – a waddling, bug-eyed Mon Cal – and ordered a scotch.

Once the waiter had retreated out of earshot, Phasma said, “Does he?”

Hux sighed. “He does.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose it’s possible, theoretically.” The Mon Cal waiter returned with Hux’s drink in record time. He took a deep pull, savoring the strong, smoky flavor and the burn in his throat on the way down. Then he said the words he hated. “If Supreme Leader Snoke were here…”

“Armitage. Stop.” Phasma reached across the table and put her hand over his. “We’re all better off without him. You know that.”

“I know he could have controlled Ren,” Hux said sourly, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Phasma shook her head. “He would have just been another Palpatine in the end. And look where that got the Empire. This way, look where the true power lies.” She nodded toward him.

Hux sighed, the corners of his mouth tugged upward against his will. She could always do this to him. He squeezed her hand and took another sip of scotch. “He said one of the voices is his father.”

“The dead one?”

“I don’t think he has another.”

Phasma skewered a squid with her fork and pointed it at him, its tiny tentacles jiggling. “Aren’t people like him supposed to be able to see ghosts through the Force?”

“By my understanding, only of other Force users.”

“Of which Han Solo was not.”

“Correct.”

“Mm,” Phasma said, popping the squid into her mouth. “I see your cause for concern.”

An unsettled silence descended upon them. Outside, the sun had set, and two of Coruscant’s moons peeked over the skyline. The deepening twilight framed the expanse of city lights.

“He also,” Hux said, coughing after another pull of scotch, “he also thinks the only person who can help him is _Rey_.”

Phasma’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“That Resistance fighter from Jakku. The one who befriended your deserter.” Hux’s jaw was finally starting to relax, his speech getting a bit looser.

“Ah, yes. Ren seemed to think the girl was special, didn’t he?” Phasma gestured vaguely toward her head, a decent approximation of how Hux also understood Force powers. “It’s a shame she’s dead.”

Hux straightened, his buzz abruptly abated. “You have confirmation of that?”

“Well, no, not exactly. But between Bothawui and our counter-terrorism patrols all the way to the Outer Rim, chances are pretty good.” That seemed to be the end of the matter, but after a beat, Phasma added, “However.”

Hux raised his eyebrows. “However?”

“There’s been some interesting chatter out that way. Word of a new rebel cell. Can’t remember the name offhand, but it’s got ‘Force’ in it.” She waved a dismissive hand and sipped her wine. “Probably a coincidence. You know how those fanatics are, using religion to justify their causes.”

“Hmm,” Hux said, rubbing his chin. “Still.”

“I could put some alerts out, if you like. Tell our people to keep their eyes open.”

Hux wondered if such things were a waste of time. The galaxy was huge, and one girl in it difficult to find, especially one without a last name. And then came the matter of what could, or even should, be done if she was found. It wasn’t justice that Kylo Ren wanted her for. To what extent should they be humoring the whims of a potential madman?

“Yes,” Hux said finally. “Do it. If you find anything, let me know. But only me. I’m not sure it would be best for the Supreme Leader to find out yet, given his current… condition.”

“Certainly, sir,” Phasma said, although she needn’t call him that any longer.

Hux found himself smiling again, and his stomach settled enough to eat. He had a few pieces of shrimp, which _were_ fantastic. He was piling oysters on his plate when the celebrity Mon Cal chef – Hux could not for the life of him remember its name – came to check on them. Hux loudly complimented the cuisine and promised to use The Dac House’s services to cater official state events _very_ soon.

When the chef had left and Hux had ordered an additional scotch, Phasma said quietly, “You know, there’s another possibility with Ren.”

“Oh?” Hux looked up from his half-eaten scallop. “What’s that?”

“The Hapans.”

Hux blinked. “What about them?”

“Drugs or poison – general subterfuge. It would be their style. Queen Mother Ta’a Chume was a master, they say. Just weeks before the arrival of the delegation, too. The timing is interesting.”

It took several seconds for Hux to work it through his mind, as he cursed the decision to imbibe. He’d been so intricately involved in the process of coaxing the Hapans out from their secretive, isolated nebula. Hours upon hours of diplomacy on neutral territory with a rotating cast of beautiful, silk-clad women ambassadors – all in an attempt to demonstrate the First Order was better and more civilized than a simple warlord regime. He truly believed he’d won them over with his wit, charm and intellect. When he heard the delegation would be sending the heir to the Hapan throne herself to meet the Supreme Leader, Hux had considered it his own personal victory. And now, it might all be a set up — but to what end?

“You’re saying the Hapan crown might want Ren out of the way for some reason.”

Phasma pressed her lips into a thin line. “Perhaps.”

“But Princess Tenel Ka knew him as a child.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh,” Hux said, leaning back in his chair. “ _Oh._ ”

Meaning Tenel Ka, of all people, understood how dangerous Kylo Ren could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching Game of Thrones lately with the fabulous Gwendoline Christie, and... yeah, I definitely couldn't let Phasma be dead. She's the most underutilized character in the entire new trilogy. At the very least, I hope I do her some justice. Fashion inspiration comes from [here](http://www.jedinews.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/gwendoline-christie-3.jpg). YAAAAS QUEEN. 
> 
> A shoutout to [this fanart](https://kasiopea-star-wars.tumblr.com/post/171692457305/as-for-my-next-forceskyping-story-in-progress-one) of Kylo, which rather perfectly embodies the holo-shoot shot of him I described in this chapter. I found the art after I wrote that part, and shouted, "That's it!" 
> 
> On a "truth is stranger than fiction" note, Hux's reference to sonic attacks comes from [real life events](https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/11/19/the-mystery-of-the-havana-syndrome) that happened to American and Canadian ambassadors in Cuba a couple years back. Unfortunately, since fiction is still generally stranger than truth, more recent studies of the supposed "Havana syndrome" have [called into question](https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2019/03/25/704903613/doubts-rise-about-evidence-that-u-s-diplomats-in-cuba-were-attacked) the notion of a sonic weapon. Still, the whole tale is so wild I couldn't resist using it.


	4. Soft Petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Poe learn of a new opportunity, and are faced with a difficult decision.

When they dropped out of hyperspace, Rey and Poe found a holo message waiting for them.

“Looks like Isde Naha was the right choice,” Poe said, skimming the note.

Rey leaned over from the _Falcon_ ’s co-pilot chair. It was a secure transmission from Kaydel Ko Connix, former lieutenant in the Resistance and current chief strategist of the Force’s Will. In her usual style, it was curt and to the point, announcing her arrival in the sector and requesting they rendezvous at “Safe house Foxtrot,” which happened to be on Isde Naha. There was, apparently, “a possibility of great import” to discuss.

Rey sank back into the co-pilot’s seat, gazing out the viewport at the approaching planet, a blue gem in the giant expanse of black. “What do you think it is?”

“I dunno,” Poe said, punching into the navcomputer in the coordinates for their landing, “but Kaydel isn’t prone to exaggeration.”

Their destination would bring them to the dark side of the planet, the wee hours of the morning local time, meaning the air traffic was nearly nonexistent. This was fortuitous, because despite its location in the Outer Rim, Isde Naha was a huge trade hub, being on both the Corellian Trade Spine and the Lipsec Run, the hyperspace lane they’d taken out to Sump. The more populated the world, the greater the chance they’d be spotted and reported to a First Order patrol. This way, they could pick a deserted space lane and not worry about rushing their descent.

The initial trip a few months back had been fruitful, and Rey, reaching for the controls to help with navigation, realized she was glad to be back. The Nahan population was mostly human, but comprised of diverse groups with no love for corruption. During their previous visit, Rey had learned that the planet’s natives lived mostly in tribes out of its metropolitan centers. They had been especially eager to hear that the Force’s Will wanted to succeed where the Resistance had failed.

Unfortunately, the Force’s Will had had less luck convincing the urban Nahan leadership, which, unlike the planet’s ancestral clans, were run by a large interstellar trade conglomerate, that they should throw in with rebels instead of bowing to the First Order. Poe had met in the capital with a representative from the Figg Trade Consortium and passionately argued their case. Rey had paced in the lobby, catching dirty looks from the receptionist and wishing she were brave enough to burst into the conference room and give the representative a piece of her mind. But the Nahan capital was the biggest city she’d ever seen, with glass skyscrapers and hover trains and lush, well-tended gardens. Everything was so bright and clean. The sofas in the lobby were so white that she worried if she sat down, latent engine grease might leech from her trousers and stain them. Rey was all too aware that a mouthy girl from the armpit of the universe wouldn’t help Poe impress a cosmopolitan merchant.

The meeting had ended in no agreement, and for awhile they’d been worried the Figg Consortium might simply report them to the First Order for the reward money, despite the support they had with the native clans. Things had still been tense when Rey and Poe set out to recruit on the less populous worlds along the Lipsec Run. Rey couldn’t help but wonder if Kaydel’s message meant the stalemate had given, one way or another.

“She said, ‘possibility.’ That means something good, yeah?” Rey had been feeling glum after the astounding failure on Sump, and was desperate for positive news.

Poe shrugged. “It means something, and something is always better than nothing.”

“Unless that something is a Star Destroyer coming to pick us up.”

“So far we’re free and clear,” Poe said. “I think if the Figgs were going to report us, they would have done it by now.”

That much seemed true. Rey finished setting up the flight pattern and settled in for the landing sequence, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin on top. The co-pilot’s chair was cavernous for someone of her size, having been installed to accommodate a Wookiee. Replacing it with something human-sized was on Rey’s seemingly endless mental list of repairs and upgrades to give the _Falcon_ when they had the time… and the money.

Poe set the controls to autopilot and leaned back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. Unlike Rey, who was suddenly jittery with nerves, he looked entirely relaxed. As on Sump, Poe seemed to blend perfectly into his surroundings: in the captain’s chair, he exuded the aura of a seasoned spacer, cruising around the galaxy to seek his fortune. Rey pictured a younger Han Solo in his place, and wondered about the years’ worth of adventures this ship had seen. She had meant to ask Han, after the whirlwind of their meeting had died down. Maybe after she had accepted his offer for employment.

Rey felt a familiar pang of grief in her chest.

“Did you know him well?” she blurted, surprising herself.

“Hmm? Know who well?” Poe glanced over.

“Han Solo. I know you were close with Leia, but Han…”

“Ah.” Poe frowned thoughtfully. “No, I can’t say that I was. I heard all the stories, of course. From my parents and in history class. Hell, even in flight school, there was a whole textbook section on maneuvers inspired by him. The Solo Techniques, they’re called.”

“Oh really?” Rey chuckled. “What does it say about them?”

“Not to do any unless you’re really reckless, really stupid, or really desperate.” Poe’s tone took on a playful edge. “I’ve used plenty of them myself.”

Rey conjured a mental image of Poe in his X-Wing, executing the sorts of moves Rey herself was attracted to. It was probably better she’d never been to flight school. “And? Which are you? Reckless, stupid, or desperate?”

“All three, sometimes.” Poe laughed. “But they’ve always worked, so there’s that.”

Rey laughed as well. “You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

“It’s a date.” Poe flashed her one of his lopsided grins, his teeth straight and white. She had never seen a human with teeth so nice on Jakku.

Rey smiled back, but her moment of joy faded, replaced by melancholy memories. She turned her attention to the viewport. Isde Naha was quickly growing to blot out the starry expanse around it, a fractal display of land, clouds, and water. “I wish I’d known Han better. He seemed like he actually lived up to the tales told about him.” Unlike Luke Skywalker.

“I do too. By the time I really got to know Leia, he wasn’t around much. It was right after their son…” Poe caught himself, paused, his dark eyes flicking over to her. “Right after the Jedi Academy massacre. It was a pretty bad time for her, I remember. There was a huge public scandal, lots of fingers pointing in all different directions as to who should be held responsible.”

Rey frowned. “What do you mean? I thought everyone held Kylo Ren responsible.”

“Not at first. At first no one knew what happened, just that all the students and Luke Skywalker were either missing or dead. When it started looking like one of the students had turned on the others, there was a big uproar about whether the Jedi themselves were dangerous, if the government was sanctioning the creation of a whole new generation of Sith, all that stuff. Leia was a senator back then; she’d been promoting the Jedi Academy as a new, innovative institution that would only strengthen the New Republic…” Poe shook his head.

“And the one who turned and slaughtered the others was her son,” Rey finished, horrified.

Poe nodded grimly. “Han more or less vanished after that. He was already notorious for hating publicity, even though he could never avoid it. Even before it happened, there was always tons of stuff in the news about their whole family: Leia the princess turned politician, Han the war hero, and Luke, the returned Jedi. Han and Leia were considered a power couple for awhile, and of course, Ben Solo was their golden child…” Rey’s heart seized a little at the mention of his name, but Poe seemed lost in reverie. He let out a wry snort. “I haven’t thought about this stuff since my teens. It was a different time, that’s for sure. Back then everything seemed so – _stable_.”

There was a terrible longing in his voice, and Rey wished to see the version of the galaxy that existed in his memory. She sometimes forgot how much older Poe was than her, but even though he described things as they were in her own childhood, it felt as though they had happened hundreds or even thousands of years before. On Jakku, nothing had ever felt stable, even in her earliest recollections. It was a reminder that the New Republic hadn’t been perfect for everyone, and that this time, once they got rid of the First Order, they had to do it _right_.

“After they lost their son, Han couldn’t handle the fame anymore. Just wanted to pretend none of it had ever happened.” Poe slowly turned the pilot’s chair to and fro with a nudge from his boot; his eyes had a distant look to them. “Leia said something to that effect to me once. It made me feel sad for her, knowing everything she’d worked for and lost.”

Rey let out a long breath. It astounded her sometimes too, the trajectory Leia’s life had taken. “She was royalty. She could have declared herself queen after the empire fell, but she spent her whole life trying to make the galaxy a better place.” She swallowed hard. “And now her son is…”

“A new emperor for a new empire,” Poe murmured.

That was the worst of it. Rey had sat down with Leia once after the Battle of Crait, before they’d found sanctuary in Bothan Space, told her about the visions she’d seen of Ben Solo’s past… and future. Leia had seemed unsurprised to hear what Rey learned about the massacre at the Jedi temple, that Ben, scared and confused, had acted out of self-defense and overreacted to the threat posed by his uncle. But at Rey’s description of her future vision, of Ben turning on the First Order _,_ Leia’s face had darkened.

_Luke told me once that the future is always in motion_ , Leia said, gently taking her hand. _That those strong in the Force can see glimpses of what might be, but that can change based on someone’s decisions in the moment. Nothing is predetermined._

Ben Solo had made his choices. He had decided he wanted power more than doing what was right. That was what hurt the most. Rey had misunderstood him. She’d thought him to be a pawn, chained to his evil master, and once freed, he would come bounding home like a lost bantha pup.

The _Falcon_ shuddered slightly as they broke atmo, and the landing sequence button began to flash. Rey and Poe both shook themselves from their thoughts, and grabbed the controls.

“All right,” Poe said. “No use dwelling on the past. Let’s land this thing and see what Kaydel wants.”

 

* * *

 

Kaydel wanted to meet in a safe house that had been secured with the Clan of the Toribota. Rey had enjoyed getting to know the Toribota, whose settlements were situated in dense forests on Isde Naha’s northernmost continent, with trees to rival the ones she’d seen on Takodana. Their dwellings centered around a huge, dormant volcano, which climbed so high it exceeded the atmosphere. As they exited the _Falcon_ into the morning light, Rey’s eye was drawn to the massive snow-dusted peak jutting above the tree line, glittering in the sun.

The air was damp but cold, and tiny clouds of steam puffed out from Rey’s mouth when she breathed. Sump’s climate might have been oppressive, but heat was something she could weather. She hugged herself and shivered as she followed Poe up the stone path to the ornate red-roofed dwellings of the Toribota nestled among the trees. Her arm wraps couldn’t protect her from the chill of the early Nahan spring, nor from the memories of the winter forest of Starkiller Base, when she had fought Kylo Ren for her life.

At the top of the walkway, the village was just beginning to wake. A few people recognized them as the off-world visitors from a few months prior and greeted them kindly. A farmer headed out to planting gladly gave them directions to the safe house. All around the village, trees were in bloom, blazing the palest of purple from a star-shaped flowers that Rey noticed several passing women had fastened into their hair. She thought about plucking a bloom and doing the same, but decided against it, afraid she might look ridiculous. That was the last thing she wanted to do in front of Kaydel.

Truth be told, Rey found Kaydel intimidating. She had tactical experience that Rey lacked, and something about her, with her round face and Alderaan-style hair buns, was reminiscent of the historical holos Rey had seen of Leia. When they’d first met after the escape from Starkiller Base, Rey had thought perhaps Kaydel was Leia’s daughter, but soon she realized that Kaydel, like Poe, was simply an admirer. After the Battle of Crait, Leia had relied on Kaydel more and more for operations management, and it became apparent she was Leia’s most logical successor. It was Kaydel who had negotiated some of their best alliances – they would not even have made it as far as Bothan space if not for her. And since the formation of the Force’s Will, she had become as essential to its survival as Poe Dameron himself. Where Poe was a charismatic, passionate public face, Kaydel was calm, cool, pragmatic, and at times brutally blunt. Perhaps it was for this reason that Rey usually felt tongue-tied around her, afraid that Kaydel and Poe would one day decide that a barely trained Force adept did nothing for their cause, and would tell her to buzz off to whatever Outer Rim slum would have her.

Somehow, miraculously, this hadn’t happened yet. Which was how Rey came to have breakfast with Poe and Kaydel in the Main House of the Toribota. Their hosts had given them a generous spread: steamed dumplings, sticky rice and pastries that looked too ornate to touch, let alone eat. Rey loaded her plate and ate ravenously; space rations barely tasted better than the bread vouchers she’d slaved for years to collect at Niima Outpost. Shoving her face full of a home-cooked meal gave her the added benefit of not having to say much, which was preferable when Poe and Kaydel got to brainstorming. They ate heartily, and washed it down with floral tea brewed from the tree blossoms Rey had admired on their way in.

It didn’t take long for Kaydel to get to the point: “I got the Figg Consortium to budge. They’re in – on a contingent basis.”

Poe’s brow furrowed over the rim of his teacup. “What does that mean?”

“No direct funding, but they’ll cover for us if we want to move our operations into their territory.”

“That’s not much more than they were doing for us before,” Poe said, with an unsatisfied grimace.

“That’s true.” Kaydel picked small the black seeds off the top of her pastry before taking a bite. “But when I talked to Ecclessius Figg, he said he could set up a meeting with a friend of his, someone who deals in arms and ships, who would be willing to hear us out.”

“And what would we do? Borrow them from him on credit? Our coffers are practically empty.”

“Well, if we pool our resources from the Sullustian donations, we’d have enough for a down payment…”

As the two strategized, Rey felt herself zoning out. She didn’t care much for the budgetary side of freedom fighting. She’d rather see the conditions on the ground they hoped to improve; that was why she’d gone along with Poe on the recruitment mission. She turned her face to the high window. The main house was set atop the Toribota village’s hillside. From here, she could see an ornamental garden, in the center of which grew the biggest of the flowering trees she had seen. Beyond it stretched a wide valley, which swept all the way to the impossibly high volcano that swallowed the horizon.

“…So say we reach an agreement with Figg’s friend,” Poe was saying. “What does he expect from us in return?”

Kaydel shrugged. “What businessmen always want. A cut of the profits.”

“And he wants to meet with me in person?”

She smiled blithely. “Your reputation is starting to precede you. You’re Poe Dameron the revolutionary now.”

Rey snuck a glimpse at Poe to gauge his reaction. He always maintained such an air of humility, but she could tell by his slow grin that he was pleased. “So when’s this meeting supposed to happen?”

“Two standard weeks from now. In Canto Bight.”

Rey’s heart seized. She’d heard about Canto Bight, the glitzy casino-city on a luxury planet. It was Canto Bight that Finn and Rose had ransacked in an act of defiance against the high rollers who funded the First Order and profited from the war. Finn had proudly relayed her the story, undoubtedly exaggerating to make himself look more heroic, but she’d found it endearing nonetheless. She’d been proud of him, sticking it to the same kind of people who had kept her face in the dirt on Jakku.

Poe let out a low whistle. Rey was certain he would point out the obvious problem, but instead he said, “That’s clear on the other side of the galaxy. I’m not even sure we’d get there in time.”

Kaydel shrugged. “You’d make it, but you’d have to leave soon. Not much time to decide, I agree.”

“Er,” Rey cut in, “don’t we have a bit of a bad reputation in Canto Bight?”

Kaydel nodded, and Rey realized it wasn’t that she hadn’t been aware of this issue, but rather deemed it too trivial to mention. “It’s worse than that, actually. You’ll probably have to give him a personal apology.”

Rey, who was not fond of apologizing, scoffed. “Why? This guy doesn’t own the whole city, does he?”

One corner of Kaydel’s mouth quirked up, which was usually the closest she came to laughing. “The whole planet, actually.”

“ _What_? You can own a whole planet?” Rey demanded.

“In CorpSec, you can,” Poe said. He tapped on the holo display built into the table and pulled up a map of the galaxy. In the northeast quadrant, he swiped to zoom in on a cluster of stars labeled _Corporate Sector_. He hadn’t been kidding about the distance; given their current location in the galactic south, it was about as far from them as charted space could get. “Whole star systems run by businesses, not governments. They’ve always been a bit of a wild card when it comes to politics. Usually the conglomerates will pledge allegiance to whoever can pay the most. That one of these fat cats even want to give us the time of day is impressive.”

He double-tapped and a projection of the planet, Cantonica, leapt into the air above the table. As the image rotated slowly, text flashed beside it, giving basic planetary facts compiled on Holopedia. Its net worth was a figure Rey hadn’t thought possible to achieve in credits. She felt a little nauseous now, regretting how much she’d eaten.

“Isn’t this exactly the kind of person we _don’t_ want on our side?” she said.

Kaydel and Poe exchanged a look. Neither of them answered.

“I mean, isn’t it?” Rey said, stunned by their silence. She found it especially infuriating that Poe seemed so easily swayed, after their months spent traveling together, during which he quoted slogans from long dead philosophers about power to the people and down with the elites. “Isn’t that why most citizens are disillusioned with politics? Because to them there’s no difference between the New Republic and the First Order? If we start cutting deals with owners of luxury planets, how do we show everyone we’re not just more of the same?”

After a long moment, Poe looked down. “Rey’s right. We get in bed with war profiteers and we’re no better than the First Order.”

Rey felt a surge of relief that he had seen it her way, but Kaydel’s face hardened. Although Rey wasn’t trying to reach out with the Force, the other woman all but mentally shouted her opinion of Rey’s stance: _naive._

Kaydel leaned across the table, fixing Rey with her shrewd brown eyes. “Look, I get what you’re saying, and I understand the value of integrity, but I don’t think saying no without even meeting him is a good idea.” She leaned back, catching Poe in her gaze as well, and held up her palms in frustration. “Think of the message it will send. We might not only lose a potential ally in CorpSec, but the Figgs as well. That’s protection along the entire Corellian Trade Spine and most of the Lipsec Run. I negotiated for months to get them to come around. We’d be throwing away all that work just to be able to claim the moral high ground? That won’t help when the First Order hunts us down and kills us.”

Rey felt her anger mounting, not because Kaydel was wrong, but because she was probably right. Rey chewed her bottom lip and glanced over at Poe, who was running his fingers over the dark stubble on his chin, as troubled as she was.

“Just go out there, both of you, and talk to him,” Kaydel said. “Maybe you can come to some sort of agreement that doesn’t require us selling our souls.”

“Hang on,” Rey said, straightening. “You want _me_ there too?”

“You were both requested. Poe the revolutionary and the last Jedi.”

Rey felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I’m not a Jedi.”

Once more, one corner of Kaydel’s mouth twitched upward. “I’m not sure I’d recommend telling him that. He seems to like a romantic story.”

Rey pushed away from the table, standing abruptly. All of a sudden the air in the room had become stuffy, threatening to suffocate her. “I need to take a walk, think this over.”

She didn’t wait to hear their protests, just hurried out of the room and to the house’s front door. She gave her thanks to their host in stilted Nahan, and slipped outside into the cool air.

The morning was finally warming up, and Rey felt refreshed rather than chilled. She found herself naturally drawn to the little square garden she’d spied from the main house’s window. Wide stone slabs provided a walkway around rows of planted ferns and creeping vines, all surrounding the flowering tree in the center. Time had upset the slabs closest to the tree, as they now jutted unevenly upward around its roots. The wide trunk provided grooves to perch on, and Rey chose a spot under the canopy of hanging branches, thick with the pastel blooms.

She sat crosslegged and faced the direction of the volcano, momentarily panicked by its sheer volume. Her eyes traced its gargantuan rising slope, ascending skyward until it was lost in a high cloud layer. Given the direction of the planet’s rotation, the sun dipped below the peak by midday, which put the entire valley in prolonged shadow. In ancient times, the Toribota had said, they used to believe the gods lived atop the crest, and when the volcano erupted, it was punishment for some slight the people had inflicted upon them. Now the volcano had lain dormant for thousands of years, but Nahan scientists predicted it was still very much active. In fact, it could erupt and wipe out at least half the planet at any time. That was what prompted the Toribota and neighboring clans to pledge support to the Force’s Will: Isde Naha’s rulers were downplaying the threat, focusing instead on mining resources and trade for profit. The natives had no one else to turn to, knowing from experience that galactic leadership did not care if they faced extinction.

Rey placed her hands on her knees and closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind and reach out to the Force. Meditation was one of the few techniques Luke Skywalker had taught her on Ahch-To, and she was still trying to get the hang of it. She often had too many frantic thoughts spilling about her brain, and the notion that she could simply be still and become one with the universe – as described in the Jedi tomes – seemed all but impossible. But she really needed some calm right now, given how jittery she felt, so she tried to empty her head of thoughts and dip into the stream of energy that flowed all around her.

Only a few seconds later she sensed another presence; a small life form was peering at her from somewhere over her right shoulder, taking her in with curiosity. Rey opened her eyes and turned. Standing at the far corner of the garden was a child of the Toribota, a little girl, maybe four or five standard years old. She had a moon-shaped face framed by silky black hair, and a pretty red dress threaded with gold. She too had one of the tree flowers fastened in her hair, just behind her ear.

Rey did not consider herself very good with children, but the girl watched her with such ferocity that she couldn’t help feeling amused.

“Hey there,” Rey said in Basic. “Where are your parents?”

The girl did not seem to understand her, and Rey was struggling to translate her inquiry into the tiny bit of Nahan she remembered when the girl approached. She leaned on her tip-toes, plucked a flower from a low-hanging branch, and held it out.

“For me?” Rey asked, having remembered that much Nahan, and the girl nodded. Rey took the bloom from her and cupped it in her hands. The petals were the softest thing she’d ever felt. Almost no flora grew on Jakku, and the little that did was spiked and volatile, ready to fight you for survival. Rey held the flower up to her face, wanting to feel it against her cheek. “Thank you.”

The little girl said something in Nahan, which Rey thought roughly meant _pretty ladies wear flowers_. The girl motioned with her pudgy hand toward her ear.

“Like this?” Rey was already losing her grasp on the girl’s native language, switching back into Basic. But she followed the pantomime, trying to tuck the flower behind her ear, but couldn’t find a way to get it to stay there without tumbling into her lap.

The girl shook her head vehemently, lost her patience, and bounded up beside Rey, chattering matter-of-fact Nahan. The girl took the flower from her, and within seconds had deftly woven the stem amid strands of Rey’s hair so that it didn’t fall out. She hopped down, and slyly removed from her dress pocket a small round mirror. She held up the glass toward Rey’s face and spoke in careful, lightly accented Basic. “See? Pretty lady.”

Rey looked into the mirror and saw, for a moment, that she might be right. She’d left her hair down when leaving the _Falcon_ to keep her neck warm. From the way it bordered her face, with the color in her lips accentuated by the blossom, she thought maybe she could see a version of herself that wasn’t a dust-covered rat.

She stared, surprised by the image, but as she prolonged her gaze she became aware of a second pair of eyes, darker than hers, just inches behind her. They were accompanied by a long nose, and a jagged scar that slashed diagonally from forehead down across his cheek and onto his neck. She knew exactly how far down on his body that scar ran; she had seen him bare-chested, and besides, she’d been the one to slice him open in the first place.

Rey let out a yell. She lunged forward and grabbed the little girl, who shrieked in return. Rey did not know how Kylo Ren had managed to track her to this planet, this village, this very garden, but she was not going to let him hurt this child as part of whatever sadistic game he’d invented.

Falling off the tree trunk, Rey hugged the girl fiercely, enveloping her body around the small, fragile one. Her knees hit the stones below hard. Gritting her teeth, Rey reached for her hip, only to remember she had left her blaster on the ship, since the Toribota found naked displays of weaponry threatening.

“ _Dammit_ ,” she growled, turning around to glare at Kylo, to shout at him that he would never hurt anyone here while she was still alive. But the space under the tree’s canopy was empty, and the only sound to be heard the keening girl she held to her chest.

Rey gasped and released her. _It’s a Force illusion. He’s not really here_. She had let her guard down and he had snuck past her defenses. She breathed deep, forcing down the panic to rebuild her mental barriers and shut Kylo out of any window into her life.

The little girl went careening down the pathway, only to be met by two approaching adults. One was Poe, his brow creased with worry, and the other was a taller version of the girl. She scooped the girl into her arms, and judging by the girl’s repeated cries of the Nahan word for “Mummy,” the family had been reunited.

Poe hurried to Rey’s side, gripping her shoulder. “Rey! Are you all right? What happened?”

Rey tried to stand, but found it wasn’t just her skinned knees that protested, but the lack of air flowing into her lungs. “Tell her,” she gasped, “tell her I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought— I thought he was—”

It took a few minutes and a lot of mediation through Poe, but mercifully, the mother understood a good deal of Basic and got the general gist that Rey had been trying to help the girl and in the process startled her. Diplomatic crisis averted, mother and daughter departed. Rey remained on her knees, staring up at the beautiful tree branches, trying to catch her breath.

“I like the look,” Poe said. “It suits you.”

Rey had forgotten entirely about the flower combed into her hair. “Huh? Oh. It’s nothing. It’s stupid.” She reached up and snatched it out, crumpling it in her fist. She felt horrified, knowing Kylo had seen her like this, but as she felt the petals give way in her fingers, she felt a searing pang of guilt. All of a sudden, she wanted to cry.

“Are you okay?” Poe asked, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

In a panicked breath, the details of her Force vision came tumbling out of her mouth, along with an explanation of the years Kylo had spent trying to infiltrate her mind. She had never told Poe about them, first from fear that he might think her crazy; and then, when she knew how truthfully he believed in the Force, that he might think her a liability.

“I thought I had it under control,” she said, her vision blurring with tears. “I never thought he’d make it in. Now what are we going to do? What if he has enough information to find out where we are?” She envisioned the beautiful Toribota village aflame, its residents slain by the First Order before the volcano had a chance to wipe them out.

Poe knelt beside her on the stones, his expression serious, but not scared. “Think back. Did he get inside your thoughts? Or was he just observing you?”

Rey forced herself to calm down long enough to recall. “Just observing, I think.” It hadn’t been like the first time on Starkiller Base, when he had forced himself into her mind, rifled through her memories – and she had done the same to him.

Poe nodded, visibly relieved. “Then we’re probably safe.”

Rey looked around frantically. “You don’t suppose – some sort of landmark could give it away? The volcano, or – or these trees—”

Poe followed her gaze, but then he shook his head. “I doubt it. Kylo Ren’s a lot of things, but he’s not a geologist. There’s millions of big mountains in the galaxy. And these trees – they’re gorgeous, right? So gorgeous I’ve seen them imported to a hundred worlds, at least.”

Rey let out a breath, barely daring to hope that he could be right. She put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. He returned the hug, rubbing the small of her back. A few seconds later he sighed and said, “But we probably want to get out of here fast, just in case. Especially after what Kaydel just told me.”

“What?” Rey pulled away, feeling her stomach lurch. “What did she just tell you?”

“She got word from one of our informants in First Order intelligence. Just a couple days ago there was a renewed high-value target alert put out for you. Just you. From high up, maybe even the very top.”

Rey swallowed thickly. “He wants to find me again. But why now? I was hoping he thought I was dead.”

Poe sighed. “I dunno. Someone like him will always have his whims.”

Rey knew he was trying to be gentle with his words, but the terminology chilled her. She drew her arms around herself, shifted so that she was no longer putting all her weight on her bruised knees. “So we shouldn’t stay anywhere too long.”

“Not in the Outer Rim, no. That’s where they’ve been told to look.”

Rey could see where this was going. “But they won’t be looking in the Corporate Sector.”

Poe flashed a smile. “Exactly. It’s about as far away from danger as could be. And if we strike a deal in Canto Bight, we’ll have even more protection. If he decides to make a move, we might even be able to give him a proper fight.”

Rey wiped the moisture away from her eyes. Her insides still felt gross when she thought about going to Canto Bight, but the situation was becoming increasingly complicated. She wondered if this was what happened to everyone in war: you went in with hopes and ideals, but reality forced you to compromise and compromise. She wished Leia was still alive, so Rey could ask how she could come out of it without losing herself.

“Fine,” she said, with a sigh. “Let’s go to Canto Bight and impress the big shot. What did you say his name was again?”

Poe got to his feet, dusting himself off. Offering her a hand, he said, “His name is Lando. Lando Calrissian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like Phasma, I have found Kaydel Ko Connix to be a really compelling but underutilized character in the new trilogy. I wanted to take a stab at fleshing her out, and I really like what I see of her so far. 
> 
> Inspiration for Isde Naha's volcano comes from my favorite oddity in the solar system: [Olympus Mons](https://www.businessinsider.com/what-olympus-mons-looks-like-on-earth-2015-1) on Mars, which is so high the peak exceeds the planet's atmosphere. 
> 
> I heard a bit of trivia that in TLJ, originally Lando Calrissian was supposed to be the master codebreaker in Canto Bight. I'm not sure how accurate it is, but regardless I am glad he wasn't. After thirty years I didn't think Lando would still be doing small scale cons. Once it had been announced he would appear in The Rise of Skywalker, I knew I wanted to do some sort of homage to him here. I really hope they have him doing something that shows how far he's come since the original trilogy. I did find it a little strange in TFA that both Leia and Han were presented as doing exactly the same stuff they were doing in A New Hope. I think it's alluded to that they'd accomplished other things and then went back to familiar old roles once losing Ben, but I like playing around with narrative elements that establish a realistic passage of time. I have every confidence that someone like Lando would own an entire planet if you gave him three decades to establish himself. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for putting up with my snail-paced updating. I think I finally have an idea of where this fic is going, and now that school is over, perhaps I will be able to update more often. Please leave comments if you liked it. I'd love to hear what you think!


	5. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigating the Hapan delegation's motives, Kylo and Hux discover that everyone has something to hide. Kylo harbors a secret of his own.

Kylo lay in his four-poster bed, propped up by an excessive amount of pillows. Hux stood across the room, droning through literally the worst agenda sentient life had ever devised. Kylo had tried numerous times to discard the task entirely, feigning a flare in his illness, but eventually Hux had seen through that. So here they were, going through a curated list of all the young women who could adorn Kylo’s arm at public meetings with the upcoming Hapan delegation. While the painkillers the doctors prescribed had tempered his migraines, rifling through a database full of women eager to advance their station by appearing as his sexual plaything had made his stomach queasy. So far, he had soundly rejected over two dozen candidates, but Hux remained undeterred, forever swiping right on the program loaded on both of their datapads.

“What about Sarli Lacer?” Hux asked, bringing up the next entry.

Kylo stared at the woman’s listed credentials, realizing why her name sounded familiar. “The Holonet starlet? Are you serious?”

“She certainly was when her publicist contacted us.”

Kylo scoffed. “I’ve heard she has a spice habit.” The datapad in his hands displayed an image of her: a waifish blonde, with melodramatic eye makeup and a pallor that suggested the tabloid rumors might be onto something.

“All the better for you, yes? That means she wouldn’t be expecting much lively conversation.”

Kylo clenched his teeth so hard he worried he might incite another headache. “I’ll pass.”

“We can’t at least put her in the ‘maybe’ column? Someone so high-profile would be sure to boost your approval ratings.”

“I thought you rigged those, anyway,” Kylo grumbled.

Hux sighed. “ _Inflate_ , Ren. We don’t work from nothing. The galaxy is simply too massive to put a complete strangle-hold on everyone. Look at the Imperial leaders of old. Everything eventually just slipped through their—”

Before Hux could launch into another inspired monologue, Kylo chucked the datapad to the opposite end of the massive bed, far beyond his reach. “This is stupid. I’m not pretending to date someone just for appearances, as some political move against the Hapans. They get me as I am.”

Hux shot him a warning glance from where he stood, leaning against the armoire. “Really? You’d like to show them your _true self_ , would you?”

Kylo huffed and rolled away from Hux onto his side. Because of course he didn’t. His true self these days was a mess. Doctors barged into his penthouse at least once a day, to poke and prod and monitor his “condition.” What that condition was, nobody seemed to be able to tell him. But he could see the strain in himself in the bedroom mirror Hux had recently replaced: paler, thinner, his scar more pronounced, dark circles clinging under his eyes. The medications tempered the worst of the pain in his head and allowed him to sleep, but nothing so far had silenced the voices. The voices, Kylo was becoming increasingly convinced, were not only in his imagination. They had to be some sort of Force-related phenomenon. If Lord Snoke were still here, he could offer guidance. Or better yet, Kylo’s grandfather, Darth Vader. Even Luke Skywalker would suffice — though only under pain of death, no doubt.

But all of them were already dead. No, his only hope would be Rey, untrained as she was, but as Hux was always so quick to remind him, she was likely no longer among the living either. Kylo squeezed his eyes shut: he could almost see her, crushed under the weight of a collapsing building on Bothawui, like his mother. Maybe they had comforted each other in their final moments. His chest ached.

“Remind me who’s coming. In the Hapan delegation,” he ordered Hux.

Hux sighed. “Princess Tenel Ka, of course.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve told me several times. Who else?”

“King Isolder, her father.”

“They’re not leaving anyone to guard the Hapan throne?”

“You forget, the Hapans are strictly matrilineal. The king is second in command to the Queen Mother. That’s his aunt, who’s acting as regent. His wife, the previous queen, died many years ago from some unnamed tragedy.”

Kylo raised an eyebrow at Hux over his shoulder. “You don’t know what it was?”

Hux shook his head. “We didn’t even know Tenel Ka was still alive until recently, if you’ll recall. The Hapes Cluster is so perfectly insulated that it can be difficult to know anything about them if they don’t want us to. And during the war, the First Order had bigger Mon Cals to fry.” Hux held up his palms, shrugging. “You knew the girl way back when. Is there any insight you can provide?”

Kylo frowned. He tried to call to mind what he remembered of Tenel Ka, those many years ago at the Jedi Academy. Thick, wavy red hair. Hide armor from some exotic beast that she’d chosen to wear instead of the school uniform, a throwback to the culture of her people. Not the Hapans, that was her father’s side of the family. Her mother’s side was from—

“Dathomir!” Kylo rocketed into a sitting position.

Hux jumped back, startled. “What?”

“Where Tenel Ka’s mother was from. She wasn’t Hapan. I remember—” Some family tale, told in happier times: his mother, father and Uncle Luke sharing a bottle of wine and reminiscing by a crackling fire. How Han had convinced Leia to marry him. His father’s voice rang clear in Kylo’s head, as if he were in the room. _And then we ended up down on that planet, with—_

“The witches of Dathomir,” Kylo said, making a dive for his wayward datapad. “They might be able to help.”

Hux scoffed, approaching Kylo as he sat crosslegged in his pajamas, hunched over and typing furiously. “Are you serious, Ren? Chasing fairytales now, are we? My nursemaid told me stories of the Nightsisters, to keep me from sneaking out of bed at night. They’d come eat my toes or some such.”

“They’re not a fairytale. My parents met the witches of Dathomir. Tenel Ka’s mother was one of them.”

As Supreme Leader, Kylo had access to all of Lord Snoke’s classified intelligence records. After logging in, he did a search for “Dathomir,” and let out a relieved laugh. He scraped the hair back behind his ear and smirked at Hux’s disbelieving face. He held up the device for both of them to see.

“‘Dathomir, located in the Mid-Rim’s Quellii Sector,’” Kylo read out loud, “‘home to several Force-sensitive nomadic tribes, most notably the dark side Nightsisters and the light side Singing Mountain Clan.’ This is it, Hux.”

Hux hovered closer, peering over Kylo’s shoulder at the readout. Kylo scrolled down and they took in the information together. “I’ll be damned,” Hux said softly.

“And you thought I was crazy,” Kylo boasted, flush with triumph. His mind raced through the possibilities. “We can reach out to the Nightsisters, offer an alliance with the First Order in exchange for Force guidance to learn what’s wrong with me. We need to ready a transport—”

“Ren,” Hux said, his gaze still on the screen. “Keep reading.”

Blinking, Kylo turned back to the entry, and the final paragraph jumped out at him. “‘All populations successfully eliminated by the Knights of Ren. Most high-value target: Teneniel Djo of the Singing Mountain Clan, Queen Mother of Hapes.’” Kylo’s mouth went dry. “Tenel Ka’s mother.”

“I suppose that explains her untimely demise.” Hux sighed, reaching out and resting his hand on Kylo’s shoulder. “Well, it was a valiant attempt, Ren.”

“I-I didn’t realize.” Kylo felt like he had been sucker punched. The date on the liquidation of Dathomir was mere weeks after he had been recruited by Snoke, when he’d still been jumping at shadows and haunted by images of the burning Jedi temple. “I knew Snoke was sending out the other Knights of Ren on kill missions, but why would he eradicate the Nightsisters? They could have been a powerful ally.”

“If you recall, Snoke did not much care for any competition.” As if realizing the warmth of his gesture, Hux abruptly dropped his arm back to his side. He cleared his throat. “I imagine he was acting preemptively against a perceived threat.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. There were moments when Kylo felt pangs of remorse for ending Snoke’s life, but it was mostly when he craved the dark lord’s counsel about the Force. At times like this, he felt a sort of shamed anger. All that time, instead of teaching him the ways of the Force, Snoke had been systematically eliminating rivals and hoarding all the knowledge for himself. Snoke had not cared about the ancient teachings and rituals, the dark side nor the light. He’d only been interested in amassing personal power. It made Kylo feel unclean, the way he’d been manipulated; and embarrassed, for how long he’d failed to notice.

“Do the Hapans know our former Supreme Leader killed their Queen Mother?” he asked quietly.

To his surprise, confusion shown in Hux’s usually shrewd eyes. Hux straightened, opened his mouth as if to answer, and then closed it again. “You know, that’s an excellent question, Ren,” he said finally. “Perhaps you’re developing a mind for politics after all.”

In Kylo’s head, he heard his mother’s voice: _Always understand and respect where the other side is coming from. That’s the first step to good diplomacy._ He scowled. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

“No, no you’re not,” Hux said absently, stroking his chin. “I’ll get someone to look into it. It might put the reason for their visit into an entirely new perspective. Not that they don’t have enough reasons to distrust us, given your history with the princess.”

Kylo watched Hux. The faraway look to his expression didn’t clear. He seemed to be thinking over something but hesitating to speak. Kylo reached out with the Force, lightly skimming this prime minister’s thoughts. _Should I tell him_?

“Tell me what?” Kylo demanded.

Hux recoiled, his face turning as red as his hair. “Did you just read my thoughts?”

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t look so obvious about hiding them. Tell me _what_ , Hux?”

Hux sighed. “See here, Ren, I didn’t want to bother you with hunches and suspicions, especially since you’ve been under the weather.”

 _He’s paranoid_ , said Hux’s voice in Kylo’s head. _Delusions and paranoia, classic signs of madness. The doctors can’t find anything physically wrong, and so—_

“I’m not crazy,” Kylo barked. “And as your Supreme Leader, I command that you tell me all that you know.”

“Yes, sir.” Hux took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and clasped his hands behind his back. “You see, I had a meeting with Director Phasma not long ago, and we discussed your… predicament.”

Fury sparked inside Kylo’s chest. “Didn’t I order you not to tell anyone?”

“Certainly, but Phasma is not just ‘anyone.’ I had to confide in our head of intelligence. It will go no further than her, I assure you. If there were leaks, it would have already been all over the Holonet.”

“ _Fine_ , I suppose. And what about this meeting?”

“She had a thought about your ailment. That the timing with the upcoming Hapan delegation was rather convenient.”

Kylo sat for a moment, working out Hux’s implication. The Hapans, including Tenel Ka, who escaped the Jedi Academy massacre, were coming to parlay with the First Order. But not only had the princess witnessed Kylo’s propensity for violence, Snoke had ordered a genocide of her mother’s home world, and the Knights of Ren had killed the reigning Hapan monarch. So why come with arms wide open, proclaiming to want peace?

“Do you think _she_ is doing this to me?”

“What?” Hux blinked in bewilderment. “You mean Tenel Ka? No, no, not her personally. We were thinking perhaps some surreptitious drug, or a poison agent, ordered by the Hapans—”

“But you’ve found no physical cause,” Kylo pointed out.

Hux sighed. “As of yet. It could be difficult to detect by normal measures.” He paused, then tilted his head quizzically. “Would that be possible, one Force user clouding the mind of another?”

“I don’t know, but Skywalker used to say that the Force works in mysterious ways,” Kylo said with distaste. “And we’re kind of running low on Jedi, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have,” Hux said blithely. He tucked his datapad into his lapel pocket and for a moment seemed to be wrestling with himself over something else. Before Kylo could probe his thoughts again, he spoke. “I’ll get our intel sources on the death of Teneniel Djo. Hopefully we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with by the time the Hapans get here.”

“Which is when?”

“Mitaka sends you daily schedule updates for a reason,” Hux huffed. “You ought to look at them. But if you must know, it’s two standard weeks from today.”

“Not much time to get to the bottom of this,” Kylo said grimly.

For a moment, Hux’s self-important facade slipped, and he looked as fatigued as he used to in those desperate early years aboard the _Finalizer_. He scrubbed a palm down his pallid face. “No. Not much time at all.”

 

* * *

 

Rest had never been Kylo’s strong suit. As a child, he found it near impossible, often going and going until someone found him passed out in the nursery, still clutching a beloved toy. This need for constant movement continued into adolescence, when he was forced to channel his nervous energy into more subtle ways: a constantly jiggling leg under his desk, endless doodles in the archaic flimsiplast books his Uncle Luke, wary of students being distracted by screens, had required they use for classes at the Jedi Academy. At the end of term, Kylo’s notebooks were filled with elaborate patterns and caricatures, but no actual substance of the class material. Which was inconsequential, because he was not much for studying, anyway.

Even now, he was not good at keeping still. Hence, the palace doctors’ prescription of bedrest came to him with a sense of irony. He was supposed to take the painkillers and limit his exertion, as the working diagnosis was nervous exhaustion from stress. Kylo swallowed the pills and made a show of staying in bed when taking visitors, but the rest of the time, he had to get creative.

After Hux took his leave, Kylo shot out of bed and began to dress. His wardrobe never strayed from black, but he eschewed the elaborate lapels and tailcoats he wore in public and put on an outfit that would make him indistinguishable from a civilian: a simple shirt, trousers, and a robe with a hood that would cover his head. All right, perhaps he looked like a _shadowy_ citizen this way, a street hawker or holo-slicer hailing from the sunless lower levels, but he certainly didn’t look like a supreme leader. And if all went well, no one would notice him to begin with.

Fastening his shin-high boots, Kylo stood and faced the bay window in his bedroom. Outside, Coruscant’s administrative sector sprawled out in the orange light of the late afternoon. His penthouse was on the top floor of the palace, surrounded by the rooftops of government buildings. These eventually gave way to a bustling commercial hub with glitzy lounges, high-end restaurants, museums, theaters. They all had one thing in common: they were clustered together in narrow spikes, all of them clamoring for a bit of direct sun.

Kylo stepped to the window and hit the control panel to lower the pane. The air, cooling down after another warm summer’s day, hit his face and drew back his hair. Once the pane had lowered all the way, he stepped to the edge. He looked down, to the administrative sector’s ground level far below. There were areas of Coruscant, it was said, where if one fell, he’d keep falling all the way to the planet’s molten core. So far, Kylo had never actually found a spot like this.

He experienced a thrill on the edge of precipices. He liked the feeling of power that accompanied the moments while he contemplated whether to jump.

He was struck by a vivid recollection of climbing to the top of the ancient Massassi temple on Yavin 4 which served as the headquarters for the Jedi Academy. The stones were moss-covered and slimy from recent rain, but with the Force on his side, he’d been able to reach the triangular summit with ease. He’d stood on the top looking down, a crowd of other students gathering, murmuring with excitement and trepidation. (Had Tenel Ka been among them? He tried to remember whether he’d seen a flash of her distinctive hair, but the identities of the students in his mind were too fuzzy.) Then his Uncle Luke had appeared, and screaming had ensued.

Kylo had never seen Luke lose his cool like that, but there was something wild in his uncle’s blue eyes as he gaped up at the adolescent, a recent growth spurt rendering him too tall for the robes he’d been issued at the start of the school year. He’d done it to test himself, his physical and mental endurance; but, the longer Luke demanded he come back down, the more he realized Luke saw him as some sort of threat. His uncle perceived him to be someone who would climb to the top of a tall building and fling himself off, forsaking the Force and letting the moon’s gravity take care of the rest.

He’d gone down the way he came, his shame and confusion mounting, until he reached the damp jungle ground and Luke seized him viciously by the arm. His parents were summoned, and when they arrived the next day, Kylo had sat hunched over in the front office while his parents argued in the corridor. As usual, Leia thought they weren’t doing all they could, while Han thought everyone was overreacting. _Do you know how many dumb stunts I did when I was his age?_

_This wasn’t a “stunt.” It was a cry for help. Luke said he was just standing there, blank-faced, ready to—_

_Maybe Luke’s just projecting a little. Didn’t you tell me once he almost fell off Cloud City into the abyss of Bespin?_

_After Darth Vader had nearly killed him and then revealed he was our father. So maybe Luke knows a thing or two about hopelessness. He says he senses a great darkness in Ben. We’ve got to do something about it._

It was incredible that no one had thought to ask him why he’d done it. It became a strange sort of secret, one he’d learned to nourish. After that, when no one was looking, he took to climbing elsewhere – on Yavin 4, there was no shortage of derelict ruins and massive trees – and jumping. Using the Force, he could soften his landing, extend his reach, swing through the trees like the indigenous wildlife. There was always a cold thrill in the pit of his stomach when he first threw himself out into the air, and he began craving that feeling, the moment before he decided to use the Force to save himself from a tumble to the grave. It honed his senses and clarified his mind.

Right now, he needed to think, and he was never going to be able to do it cooped up in his bedroom. The Praetorian Guards standing outside his penthouse displayed more loyalty to Hux than Kylo, but they had simple enough minds to trick. No one knew the Supreme Leader periodically stepped out into the city among the rabble. Or, rather, above it.

Kylo took a deep breath, summoned the Force around him, and thrust himself out the window. He landed squarely on the corner of the adjacent building, the toes of his boots digging into its sculpted concrete ridges, fingers straining for purchase. Using the Force to slow his inertia, he paused for balance, then scrambled up to the top. He ran along the line of the roof, reached the far corner, and contemplated his next leap.

He got into a rhythm of jumps, landings, shimmies and scrambles, letting the Force provide the correct course and cushion to his actions. It felt good to exert himself, expend the energy that always built up within him and threatened to explode. Without regular lightsaber battles, these forays were the only way he could keep himself balanced. And on the top levels of Coruscant, the average citizen rarely looked up.

Night began to fall, and Kylo tried to sort out what he and Hux had just learned. So Snoke had eliminated the Nightsisters and the Knights of Ren had murdered Tenel Ka’s mother. Was the Hapan delegation truly coming as a front for revenge? He tried fervently to remember more of Tenel Ka, but the memories were nearly twenty years old and tinged with tragedy. She had valued honor as a warrior, he seemed to recall. Subterfuge and sneak attacks were not in her nature. But then again, he had changed a lot in the last two decades. Perhaps she had as well.

His thoughts returned to Dathomir. Part of him yearned to travel to the planet despite Hux’s admonishment, to see if the Knights of Ren had truly succeeded in their mission. It was the planet, he remembered, that his father had won in a sabacc game, all to impress his mother and coax her into marrying him. Kylo couldn’t remember if Han’s deed to Dathomir had ever been abdicated – maybe he could claim ownership by inheritance, designate the planet as his vacation home, take a short leave of absence. Kylo smirked; the Quellii sector was not all that far from Coruscant. The only problem was convincing Hux he’d actually return in time to meet the Hapans.

But in all honesty, what choice did he have? Snoke was dead, and in death grew less and less reliable as a mentor than he’d seemed in life. Luke Skywalker was dead. His mother was dead. And Rey…

Kylo made a jump from a window ledge to a tall street lamp. He could use it for leverage to cross the longer distance across a wide boulevard to the building on the other side. He landed on the top of the light with one foot, pushed off from it, and —

He was no longer soaring above the city scape, but under a tree in an alien, far-flung village. A girl sat in front of him, facing away, but he knew immediately it was her. She sat bowed over a tiny child with a hand mirror, which showed him a glimpse of her face, a beautiful five-pointed flower woven into her hair.

Kylo reached out to touch her shoulder.

Before his fingers could reach her, their eyes met in the mirror, and Rey, recoiling in horror, screamed.

The vision broke like a fever, and Kylo returned to mid-air. He jerked back, reacting to someone who was no longer there, which threw off his trajectory. His fingers grazed the ledge of the building he’d been aiming for, but his momentum was too much. He flew past it, going into a free fall. Panic took over and he flailed, the pavement several stories below rushing up to meet him. He let out a yelp, falling head first, limbs splaying outward to grab anything to cushion his landing. His foot caught on the spokes of a fire escape, wrenching his ankle. He hung, suspended, the cobblestones only a half a dozen meters below him.

He slipped out again. With a series of undignified groans, he hit the ground and rolled until he wound up flat on his back.

Kylo lay there, the air knocked from his lungs, the shoulder blade that had taken the brunt of the fall alight with pain, staring up at the sliver of sky visible between the two buildings. The stars were just beginning to come out, twinkling shyly in the cobalt expanse. While he gasped and sputtered for breath, he felt a bizarre mixture of hope and anguish. He knew now that Rey was alive. But, even after everything they’d been through together on the _Supremacy,_ she hated him once more.

 

* * *

 

Kylo was no stranger to being knocked prone. So many definitive moments of his life had been spent in this position, writhing or crawling or shivering in the snow. It was almost comforting, being forced to stay still and reassess all of his choices.

Once he’d recovered his breath, he concentrated and determined it was unlikely he’d broken anything. His left shoulder throbbed, his right ankle felt swollen, but all in all there was no irreparable damage. He’d fared far worse in the past.

He was in a dark alley, not far from a main thoroughfare but removed enough from foot traffic that no one was likely to notice him. Because of this, he was in no hurry to stand, and instead stared up at the hazy stars above and played the vision of Rey in his head again and again. She looked well, and lovely with the flower in her hair. He wondered who the little girl was, and, with a pang of envy, assured himself she was too old to be Rey’s daughter. But that made him wonder where Rey had been these last two years, how exactly she’d gotten on with her life. Which planet housed her picturesque little village? He had a difficult time believing she’d consign herself to obscurity, after her humble beginnings on an anthill of a world and the fire he’d glimpsed inside her. But the galaxy had changed since the end of the war. Maybe Rey had found the First Order’s vision of the future – particularly its trumpeting of old Imperial ideals – to be obscene, and had preferred to melt away into the shadows.

Kylo’s stomach turned. _After I had offered her everything. We could have torn it all down and rebuilt it our own way._

He hauled himself to his feet, grunting when working his bruised muscles. The pain had migrated from his shoulder to his side, and he hugged it with one arm as he limped toward the opening of the alleyway. He was in no shape to climb back up to the rooftops, and he had only a vague idea of where he was geographically. Leaning on the wall for support, he put up his hood so that no one was likely to recognize him, and tried to catch his breath. He was less concerned about getting back to the Imperial palace than he was unraveling the enigma of his Force vision. Whether she hated him or not, Rey might be the only person in the galaxy with the capacity to understand what was happening to him. He had to find her, even if all he had to go on was a few seconds’ worth of clues.

But how? He grimaced, imagining telling Hux about the vision. The prime minister already suspected he was simply insane. Kylo knew he couldn’t just dump his own mental images into a holonet database search and find matches for the architecture he had glimpsed. There were some kinds of technology that simply didn’t exist. He thought perhaps there’d been a massive mountain in the distance, but that didn’t exactly narrow the parameters, given the sheer number of habitable rocky worlds in the galaxy. He closed his eyes, summoning the images to mind again. The clearest view he had was of the flower, both from the back, its stem woven in Rey’s hair, and the front of the blossom reflected in the child’s mirror. It was elegant, distinctive… but probably one among millions or billions of species.

Kylo opened his eyes and gazed out across the neon-lit city promenade, trying to gauge his location. He must have bypassed the administrative sector with its squat, stalwart government buildings, and crossed into the commercial district. On Coruscant’s top level, this district teemed with outlets and bazaars selling wares from the most exotic reaches of the galaxy. Across the boulevard from where he stood, among the glowing signs and storefronts, was a florist’s shop.

 _The Force works in mysterious ways_ , Luke said in his head.

“Shut up,” Kylo muttered, and crossed the street.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d walked into an establishment as a civilian. As a child he’d bounced in and out of the limelight as the son of a war hero and a politician, but even when it was unlikely he’d be recognizable by sight, security usually had tailed him. He’d gained only a short respite as a student at the Jedi Academy, out in a sector where people cared less about what was going on in the center of the galaxy. Once he’d become Kylo Ren, there was no going anywhere undercover – he always had to make an entrance. And now, as Supreme Leader, the danger of going out unaccompanied was multiplied exponentially. An entourage usually followed him wherever he went, advisers and bodyguards and secret police agents and holonet reporters wanting sound bites. It was a wholly foreign experience, stepping through the automatic door on his own, simply because he wanted to.

Kylo was immediately engulfed in a jungle of flora. Flowers of every imaginable size, shape and hue surrounded him, and some pulsated or hummed or hung in shades and shapes that were incomprehensible to his human sensibilities. The air conditioning had been turned up high, contrasting with the warm, moist night out on the street, and Kylo found himself shivering in the middle of the artificial greenhouse. Still, he was determined, and stepped farther into the fray.

There were no other customers present. The sign in the window had indicated the shop was near closing, and Kylo could hardly imagine a florist did a lot of nighttime business. That was perfect. He could slip in, ask a few questions, slip out again with no one the wiser. That was, if he could find an attendant, who was as absent as the consumers.

He realized he had no idea how a normal citizen did the shopping. He swallowed hard, turning in a slow circle. Did he dare venture farther into the back?

“Hello?” he called.

“Hello, sir,” said a voice behind him, so close that Kylo jumped. How had he not sensed the presence of someone so nearby? “How may I help you?”

He turned and scowled; set into the wall among aquamarine fronds and oversized sunflowers was a computer interface. A droid program ran the store. He should have figured. It was a common trend right now, leading to economic anxiety among the unskilled labor demographic as well as manufacturers who produced physical droid bodies for such tasks. These days, it was seen as wasteful to even bother building droids when a program could suffice and the customers could serve themselves. When the issue had been brought up to Kylo by a trade union representative, he had wondered what the fuss was about. Now, his irritation mounting, he wished he had a person to consult with and not a machine. At least a droid program was less likely to gossip.

“I’m looking for a certain flower,” he said, stepping closer to the interface, unsure how well the computer could hear him. “Can you tell me what it is if I described it to you?”

“I am familiar with over seventeen million forms of plant life,” the computer assured him crisply. “I should be able to assist you.”

Kylo set to describing the flower he had seen tucked behind Rey’s ear, but each time he added another detail, the computer displayed a different type of bloom, none of them close to the correct one. It didn’t take long for him to grow frustrated. He was beginning to understand the trade union representative’s point. What decision had he made on that legislation? He had a sinking feeling that he’d allowed the bodiless labor practice to continue unregulated. “Isn’t there a real person I can talk to about this?”

“I can dial a botany specialist to speak to you, sir.” Perhaps it was his imagination, but its tone seemed to take on a hint of coyness.

Kylo scowled, wishing he’d taken his lightsaber along on his sojourn. He had a sudden desire to carve the machine right out of its wall unit. “Do that.”

Soon he was on the line with a female voice, speaking in an accent he couldn’t place, but at least she was an intelligent life form. Kylo recounted all that he remembered about the flower, and to his immense relief, the woman seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. “That’s a pink starflower, sir. You can find it in aisle six, shelf four. Excellent for bouquets at weddings, baby showers, and for a special someone—”

Kylo had already limped down to the aisle and seized an arrangement of a dozen of them. Sure enough, they were identical to the one he’d seen in his vision. His heart leapt into his throat. “Where do they come from?” he asked.

“They’re very popular from the Core to the Rim, sir. You can find their trees growing on a variety of worlds.”

The seed of hope he’d felt turned to dread. “How many?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t have an itemized list in front of me.”

“Give me an estimate,” Kylo growled. He held up the bouquet of starflowers and sniffed them. They had a faint sweet scent, and their petals were incredibly silky. Touching them, he felt as though he should be able to touch Rey herself.

“Two thousand, one hundred and fifty,” the botany specialist said.

Kylo let out a feral cry and reached out with his free arm. Through the Force, he twisted the computer interface out from the wall with a savage wrench. The machine shot out sparks and the comm line went dead. He panted and stormed for the door.

“Sir!” the artificial voice was back; apparently there were other computers cattered throughout the store. “You cannot leave without paying!”

Kylo didn’t have any credits on him. “Charge it.”

“To who?”

“The Supreme Leader.”

He charged out the automatic door and right into a swarm of spotlights, camera crews, and reporters with microphones.

“It is him!” someone shrieked, and they surrounded him on all sides, shouting all at once.

Kylo was so surprised that he forgot his temper. He stopped dead, his eyes widening at the sheer array of lights, apertures and faces. He had no idea how he’d been spotted or who might have tipped off the paparazzi. He was visibly injured, mid-vandalism and theft, clutching a stupid bunch of flowers, kilometers from anyone who would help him spin this absurd occurrence.

After a few seconds, he was able to distinguish one voice from another.

“Supreme Leader, do you go undercover into the city often?”

“Is this your casual attire of choice? ‘Urban chic’ is the look, isn’t it?”

“Who are the flowers for, Kylo?”

It was the last one he reacted to, only to hold up the bouquet of pink starflowers. His heart pounded against his chest. Now was his chance. He could announce his search for Rey on the galaxy-wide news. Maybe she would see this and understand how much he needed her.

But he couldn’t find the words. The media swarm backed him up against the wall. His last dose of painkillers had been hours ago; his temples pounded in the intense lights. His gaze darted from side to side, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face.

A petite woman, with peaks of Zabrak horns poking through the bangs of her light hair, stepped so close they nearly touched. He recognized her from an insipid celebrity gossip show. Breathlessly, she shoved the mic at him so forcefully it knocked against his chin. “Are they for Princess Tenel Ka?”

“Yes,” Kylo said, and a wave of shock roiled everyone, including himself. “Yes, they’re for her.”

While the crowd attempted to recover, he pushed through and gimped down the sidewalk. His mind reeled with the implications of what he’d just done. He couldn’t fathom what had possessed him to say such a thing, or why. He just knew, with absolute certainty, that Hux would soon find a way to come to him in his sleep and slit his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may have been partially inspired by a dream I had where Kylo told me he wanted to move to Gotham City and become a vigilante. I like the idea of him skulking around on city rooftops, and he seems like the type to be into parkour. 
> 
> Other inspiration comes from the songs [Darkside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUNjh1IIPpg) by grandson and [Secret](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzNFwxsSPwU) by the Pierces. I had a lot of fun delving into Kylo's psyche this time around and I hope I did some justice to the character. I find him to be a complicated anti-hero rather than an outright villain.


	6. Terminus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Rey and Poe prepare for their meeting with Lando Calrissian, a surprise revelation about the First Order sets up new complications.

Getting to Cantonica would be tricky. Given their time constraints, Rey and Poe poured over star charts in the _Falcon_ , trying to devise the best route. To reach the Corporate Sector, they needed to switch hyperspace lanes from the Corellian Trade Spine to the Hydian Way, a route that would take them through the heart of the Core. This thrilled neither of them, but the alternative of hopping around various back lanes in the eastern reaches of the galaxy would take entirely too long if they wanted to be on time for their meeting with Lando Calrissian. That afforded them with two options when leaving Isde Naha: either head to the galactic north toward the Core and switch at a crossroads, or head south, out to the edge of the galaxy on the Corellian Trade Spine, catch the end of the Hydian Way at the intersection point, and start inward again from there.

“I’d rather not have to backtrack if we can help it,” Rey said. “What’s the most convenient crossroads if we head north?”

“Probably Bestine, in the Inner Rim,” Poe said. “But we’d need a place to refuel, and Bestine used to be the New Republic’s biggest Navy Yard.”

Rey grimaced. “Controlled by the First Order now, I would imagine.”

“You would imagine correctly.”

She sighed. In the past, she might suggest risking it, thinking a ship as tiny and insignificant as the _Falcon_ would pass by unnoticed. But now that First Order intelligence had a security alert out on her, surely an unmarked Corellian freighter would pique the interest of any observant authorities. When they’d started their recruiting mission for the Force’s Will, Rey had wondered about the conspicuousness of flying around in Han Solo’s signature starship. However, neither she nor Poe had quite been able to ditch the _Falcon_ , which they’d inherited when everyone else tied to it had died or disappeared. After months of flying, they each regarded it with the reverence afforded to it in the history books: deceptively useful, even if was prone to repair issues and a hyperdrive unit that was slow by modern standards.

“Out to the end of charted space it is, then,” Rey said.

“Not just any end of charted space,” Poe said, tapping the point on the holomap with his index finger. “Terminus.”

Rey quirked an eyebrow. “What’s Terminus?”

Poe grinned. “A shadowport with a reputation that precedes it.”

“You’ve been?”

“Oh, no, never. But let’s just say that it’s unlikely we’ll run into any First Order flunkies there.”

That was Rey’s introduction to Terminus, a tiny rocky world circling a dim star. After over a day in hyperspace traversing the far end of the Corellian Trade Spine, approaching the planet was surreal. They were so close to the end of the galaxy that beyond the brown sphere hung nothing but uninterrupted black. Seeing that vast empty expanse in the _Falcon’s_ viewport put an inexplicable, deep-seated terror in her stomach. It was worse than seeing the volcano that could wipe out most of Isde Naha. The galaxy was huge, filled with stretches of unmapped territory, but everyone understood, wild as it was, that the Unknown Reaches could one day be knowable. This was a different beast entirely.

“What’s out there?” she asked as they started the landing sequence.

“Nothing,” Poe said lightly. Then, after a pause: “Well, there are stories. Mostly that it’s pirates trying to circumvent the known hyperspace lanes. Or ships whose faulty hyperdrives threw them way off course and they’ve all gone mad in the void.”

Rey found the tales a bit hokey, and beside the point. “I mean further than that.”

“Oh, in other galaxies? No one knows, and no one’s invented light speed travel fast enough to get us to the next nearest one. Better to leave that question to philosophers and artists, my father used to say.”

Poe’s answer felt unsatisfactory, and Rey pondered the notion all the way to the surface. It struck her that she’d spent so much time on Jakku dreaming of the wider galaxy, but had never even considered that a vaster universe lay beyond it. She wondered if galaxies far away had sentient life; if they were waging their own wars and trying to find their own balances between the light side and the dark.

Terminus’s sun was so faint that all light cast was a weak orange hue; the sky was a burnt sienna that suggested profound air contamination. Despite that, every centimeter of the tiny planet had been built up to make one never-ending spaceport. Terminus was clearly not a world with a native population. Instead, it had been developed slowly by necessity due to its location. The air quality was so bad for most sentient life forms that the station was contained under tall transparisteel domes, separating everything into quadrants with underground hovertrains connecting them. Poe and Rey set down at the dock in the Green quadrant; the names for the different ones were taken from colors. The Green quadrant sat adjacent to the Purple and Blue quadrants, even though every surface they saw was the color of rust.

The Green quadrant’s port had the dirty sleaziness of Niima outpost, the diverse population of Maz Kanata’s castle, and the frenetic urban movement Rey imagined must be like on the Core world of Coruscant. From what she understood, the planet was only a fraction of Coruscant’s size, and she could barely picture a city so big and wide, after all the years she spent among the empty sand dunes of Jakku. She and Poe were surrounding by bustling crowds of every intelligent creature known to the galaxy and probably then some. Rey relaxed a little. Poe was right: no one was likely to notice her here.

They left the _Falcon_ to the port crew to refuel and run a series of diagnostics to make sure it was fit to make the nine-day hyperspace jump to Cantonica. This would take a few hours, and in the mean time they had to manually restock rations and other necessities. Glowing holo-directories attempted to orient them toward every available vendor: arms dealers, spice traders, gambling dens, cantinas that doubled as brothels — Terminus purportedly had it all. Rey and Poe stood before the directory for a few minutes, taking in all the flashing lights and advertised debauchery.

To her surprise, Poe let out a self-conscious chuckle. “I sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

It occurred to her this was not Poe’s usual neck of the woods: he was used to the clean, tidy Core worlds, or small rebel outposts on uninhabited planets. Even their recruiting efforts hadn’t taken them anywhere this disreputable. And here she was, just starting to feel at home. “I’ve no delicate sensibilities to offend, you know.”

Poe cleared his throat. “No, no, of course not. You just deserve better than this, that’s all.”

The compliment made Rey feel warm inside.

The center of the Green quadrant was home to a thoroughfare that served as an open air market of sorts – insofar as you could crane your neck upward and catch sight of the domed ceiling far above. The market itself was a spacer’s dream. Rey and Poe were able to stock up on rations in minutes, and spent much more time perusing a junk collector’s wares for spare parts that Rey could use to upgrade the _Falcon_. Joyfully, she managed to score them a great deal on both a power coupling and an old hyperdrive motivator. Rey was reasonably certain she could use the hardware inside each to give a boost to the _Falcon’s_ aging hyperdrive unit. Not soon enough to get them to Cantonica faster, but with any luck, they might be able to use it for a speedier departure.

Even so, after Rey handed over a sizable chunk of their remaining credits to the junk dealer, Poe quipped as they were leaving, “If this deal goes sour, we might be forced to take jobs as dish washers in Canto Bight for awhile.”

“Speak for yourself,” she shot back. “I think I’d have what it takes to be a race jockey.”

They both laughed, but Rey felt the tension underlying it. A rebellion without proper funding was just a lot of fanciful dreams. They fell back among the amid the milling crowds in the thoroughfare, and the din provided enough white noise that Rey felt safe to ask, “So how much do we know about this Calrissian guy?”

“Not much,” Poe admitted. “He’s richer than most of the galaxy, for a start. In his youth he was a real scoundrel — smuggling and whatnot, but went legit ages ago. Got his start in a mining operation on Bespin. He was in business with the Figg Consortium there; they’ve stayed in touch. That’s how we got connected with him. Now he owns a casino planet and is ostensibly rolling in the dough.”

“And he wants to help a struggling rebellion against the First Order _why,_ exactly?” Rey asked.

Poe shrugged. “The wealthy get eccentric. I imagine the Empire gave him grief back in the day, and now the First Order is trying to regulate too much of his revenue. Churning up bad memories.”

“So we need to promise him we won’t do that when we’re in charge?” Rey asked. “We won’t try to – what word did you use – _regulate_ him?”

“Pretty much,” Poe said.

The whole thing filled Rey with unease. The promise sounded simple, but vague and difficult to enforce. She had a hard time imaging a reality where they’d ever be in a position to grant favors like that, so maybe it was her own failure of imagination. What she lacked there, Poe had in spades.

“Is that a good idea?” she asked. “Not regulating him, I mean. He must make billions, even trillions in credits from a casino planet. If he paid any taxes, even a tiny amount, think of the resources we’d have to help those who couldn’t afford—”

Poe laughed, and Rey cut herself off, the color rising in her cheeks. “Sorry. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Poe said, waving his hand as if to banish her humiliation. “You just sounded like Leia for a second there. Back when she was a politician.”

Rey’s blush deepened. She pulled up the loose scarf she wore around her neck to conceal her face. “I’m not smart enough to be a politician.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. And you’re right — if we win this thing, those are decisions we’re going to have to make. What promises we’ll have to keep and to whom.”

“Meaning what?” Rey asked, dropping the scarf from where she’d held it against her mouth. “We should tell Calrissian we’ll cut him a deal and then renege if we ever have enough power to make good on it?”

Poe shrugged. “That relies entirely on how much he comes through for us. And whether there’s still a scoundrel under that veneer of respectable businessman.” He nodded toward a storefront to their right. “Hold up, I want to go in there.”

Rey followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. “That’s a clothing emporium.”

Poe flashed her a brilliant smile. “Yes it is.”

Bemused, Rey followed Poe into the store. Clothes shopping had never been a luxury she could enjoy. Too often on Jakku she and her fellow scavengers had simply altered clothing they found in the wrecks they explored, or else turned errant fabrics into tunics. Even though she’d been off world for a couple years, Rey found it difficult to give up on the wardrobe she’d cobbled together for herself, even when it wasn’t suited to the climates of differing planets. They also usually had very little credits to spare, which helped her resist change.

Now she was confronted by clothes of every cut and shade, most of which were geared toward humans but certain racks and shelves accommodated those who were not bipedal. Much of the clothes were glitzy and avant-garde, but the place still felt dusty and ramshackle in a way that felt unnatural, somehow. The entire establishment did, in fact.

“What’s a fancy clothing store doing in a place like this?” Rey asked.

“Pirate plunder is my guess,” Poe said, poking around a display of colorful scarves. “Lots of tourists taking adventure cruises to the end of the galaxy, only to be held up by bandits. There’s always less valuable spoils to get rid of in any haul, right?”

That tracked with Rey’s scavenging experience, but she could never imagine an outlet like this popping up in Niima outpost. Everyone would deem it too impractical. “Do a lot of spacers like dressing fancy?”

“Some do, especially when there’s money to be made. Many double as con artists, and there’s something to be said for looking the part.” Poe pulled a navy blue suit jacket off a rack, gave it a judicious sniff and checked the lining.

“Hang on.” Rey struggled to understand his implication. “You’re not just desperate for a new look?” She’d assumed he was simply rethinking the wisdom of going around with the old Rebel Alliance patch on his sleeve, given the renewed security alert.

“Always,” Poe quipped. “But in this case, I’m thinking ahead to our meeting with Calrissian. We have to dress to impress.”

“What do you mean, we? _I_ don’t intend to waltz into Canto Bight looking like ruling class scum.” She remembered Finn’s description of the writhing, smug masses in their silks and jewels, their outrageous wealth on display for everyone to drool over. “Finn and Rose didn’t—”

“Finn and Rose got caught,” Poe said, with sharp scorn. Although he didn’t raise his head, his eyes flicked to her; they were steely and unyielding. “They painted targets on their backs with almost comical precision. That mission was an utter failure, Rey. We can’t afford to repeat their mistakes.”

Poe’s words stung, not necessarily because she thought he was wrong, but because it hurt to hear such harsh sentiments about the dead. Rey felt a sudden deep ache in her chest for Finn, in all of his charm and bravado. “They weren’t there to suck up to the guy who owns the planet,” she retorted, with an inexplicable desire to defend them.

“No, but they probably would have found someone better than a common grifter to help them if they’d maintained a lower profile,” Poe said, with a calm that infuriated her. “And we _are_ there to suck up to the guy who owns the planet. Optics will be everything. You heard Kaydel. Calrissian wants to meet the Revolutionary and the Jedi. If we slouch in like two greasers who can’t even dress themselves, how much faith do you think he’ll have in the success of our cause?”

Rey let out a slow breath, because as usual Poe talked an awful lot of sense. She tried to center herself in the Force and let go of her grief for Finn, the thing that seemed to be fueling her anger. She looked around the emporium, once again realizing how out of place she felt among anything of value.

“I-I’ve never dressed up in my life,” she confessed. “I’d only make you look bad.”

Poe’s expression softened. “Okay, now that’s the biggest load of tauntaun dung I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not,” Rey insisted. “I’m telling you. I wouldn’t know how to look nice if I tried.”

Poe put the jacket back on the rack, a slow smile forming on his lips. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here, eh? Looking nice is an art, and it’s one I’m more than happy to counsel others on.”

Rey pressed her hands to her face. “Are you sure I’m not just hopeless?”

“I am absolutely positive.” Poe took her hand and steered her toward the women’s section with undisguised glee. “Now let’s find something that’s gonna knock the socks off everyone with eyes.”

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Rey and Poe’s credit cache was down to double digits, but their spirits were high. After dropping off their supplies on the _Falcon,_ they opted to celebrate in the least seedy cantina they could find. They had enough to cover dinner and a few rounds of drinks, and any fresh-cooked meal would beat the prepackaged rations they would be consuming during the hyperspace jump to Cantonica.

They sat in a cramped corner at a small table, which quickly filled up with ale mugs and baskets of fried goodness Rey could barely pronounce. Since the cantina’s focus was not gambling, spice or sex work, the owner had apparently decided the establishment’s big draw should be sports. The walls above the bar and booths were outfitted with two at least dozen holoscreens, each broadcasting a different match from every corner of the galaxy. Rey found herself frequently distracted by the lights and color, even though most were not broadcasting in a language — or with a sport — she could understand. Even so, the alcohol made her feel buoyant, and she found herself giggling easily as she and Poe ate and talked.

“I’m telling you, you’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” Poe said, tipsy like her and sloppy in his enunciation.

“Who’s ‘them,’ exactly?” Rey asked, her gaze straying to a screen above Poe’s shoulder. Scaly Trandoshans kicked triangular-shaped objects around a three-tiered round pitch with no rhyme nor reason she could discern.

“The whole of Canto Bight,” Poe said, nodding. “Everyone who sees you. ‘Who is that fierce woman?’ they’ll ask. And you’ll say you’re Rey, the last Jedi.”

“I’m not the last Jedi,” Rey countered, though she laughed at the mental image of herself strutting through the city, the wind at her back. “Luke Skywalker was the last Jedi.”

Poe shook his head, taking another bite of meat dipped in some sort of hot sauce. “No, no, no. We gotta come up with a better origin story for you. Calrissian likes a dramatic tale, supposedly. So when he asks, you don’t say you’re the last Jedi. Tell him you’re…” He paused to contemplate, washing his food down with a swig of ale.

“But I’m no one,” Rey said, shaking her head.

“Not anymore. You’re a legend in the making. You’re not the last, you’re the _first_.” Poe snapped his fingers, pointing at her. “Tell him you’re the first of the New Jedi Order.”

Rey pulled a face. “Sounds a bit too much like ‘the First Order,’ though, doesn’t it?”

“Damn,” Poe said, pressing a fist against his mouth. “You’re right. We’ll work on it. But I like the framing that you’re the beginning, not the end. Definitely lean into that.”

Rey ducked into her mug of ale so she could bite back her retort. She was vaguely excited about the ensemble Poe had helped her pick out, but she wasn’t sure how that could transform her into a legend. She was just hoping she’d be able to walk in her new heels without tripping. She’d been a bit wobbly in the store, but Poe assured her she could practice during the hyperspace jump.

Above Poe’s shoulder, the Trandoshan sports match had faded into a news broadcast. It was impressive that Holonet coverage reached this far into the Outer Rim, but Rey supposed that was the advantage to a spaceport positioned at the convergence point of two major hyperspace lanes. Not that she bothered much with Holonet news; the First Order had its claws in all the major broadcasting stations and nothing put out could be trusted for accuracy.

Even so, she found her gaze straying back to the screen as the lower third flashed in Basic: _SUPREME LEADER IN LOVE?_

Rey’s heart twisted in her chest as she suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Above the ridiculous headline, a Zabrak woman with bright yellow eyes and matching hair sat at a desk with her hands folded demurely, even though her coquettish expression suggested she was about to share salacious gossip. “I’m Vippi Ximar, reporting for the culture section of the Holonet News Network. Speculation continues to fly since two nights ago, when the galaxy’s most eligible bachelor – our very own Supreme Leader Kylo Ren – was spotted incognito on the streets of Coruscant’s administrative sector.”

Rey’s mouth dropped open as a graphic appeared to Vippi Ximar’s left, showing a freeze frame of the visage she knew all too well. Kylo looked more haggard than she remembered. He was leaner in the face, with patchy stubble clinging to his jaw, and his large brown eyes were those of an animal caught in a speeder’s headlights shortly before meeting its demise. He wore a simple shirt, its hood thrown carelessly over his head, his dark and uncombed hair poking out at odd angles. His skin shone with sweat.

The freeze frame sputtered to life, and Kylo blinked rapidly in a sea of camera flashes, swaying as if about to swoon from the media onslaught. A disembodied voice, clearly that of Vippi Ximar, asked, “Who are the flowers for, Kylo?”

Kylo raised a bouquet of flowers into frame, and all the air left Rey’s lungs in a gasp. In his white-knuckled hand, he clutched an entire bunch of the blossoms she’d worn in her hair on Isde Naha.

“He knows,” Rey hissed.

“Huh?” Poe blinked, and turned around to see what she was looking at. “Holy star mother.”

“ _He knows_ ,” Rey repeated, the panic rising in her throat. She could see Kylo’s jaw working in high definition, the muscles tightening in his throat as her name floated up to spill out of his mouth. He was going to tell them about her, and the whole galaxy would turn their gaze to Rey from Jakku, a sand scavenger who had struck the Supreme Leader’s fancy.

Seconds passed. A bead of perspiration wound down his temple, and he sucked in his lips, but Kylo didn’t speak.

“Are they for Princess Tenel Ka?” prompted Vippi Ximar.

Rey blinked at the foreign, unfamiliar name, her horror evaporating into confusion.

“Yes,” Kylo said, already wading his way out of frame. “Yes, they’re for her.”

The footage froze, and Poe and Rey exchanged identical bewildered looks. Poe asked, “Who’s Princess Tenel Ka?”

“How should I know?” Rey huffed. “He never told me who his friends were.”

Thankfully, Vippi Ximar was eager to deliver the scoop. “Princess Tenel Ka, heiress to the Hapan throne, has been an intriguing but mysterious figure to the wider galaxy ever since earlier this year, when the Hapes Cluster ended their policy of isolationism and entered into negotiations with the First Order. With the arrival of the Hapan delegation to Coruscant just under two standard weeks away – headed by Princess Tenel Ka herself – the galactic rumor mill has been abuzz with the possibility that there might be a marriage proposal brewing. After all, both our Supreme Leader and the Hapan princess are young and beautiful. However, this is the first piece of hard evidence that there’s to be a _royal wedding_ in our future.” She sounded as though she were holding back a squeal. “While a spokesperson for the Hapans could not be reached for comment, the First Order has said they can neither confirm nor deny the possibility at this time.” Vippi’s mouth twisted into a manic grin. “But I think we all know what _that_ means.”

The broadcast cut to commercial.

Poe recovered first. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Rey said. She kept glancing back at the holoscreen, now showing an advertisement for new tech in bacta-based catheters, as if it could somehow shed light on the situation. “Those flowers — that can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

Poe took a deep breath. “I didn’t think so either at first, but… I told you those flowers were popular, didn’t I?”

“They can’t be _that_ popular,” Rey scoffed, put off by the thought that Kylo could have spied on her just to get ideas to impress another woman. “Two standard nights ago on Coruscant would have been about the time I saw that vision on Isde Naha.”

“Then why lie about it? Why not tell everyone it’s you he’s searching for, get every bounty hunter dreaming of riches to scour the ends of the universe for you?”

“I don’t know!” Rey cried, and for the first time realized how loud she was being. She glanced around the cantina, but everyone seemed engrossed in their drinks or their preferred sports matches. With all the noise, she and Poe could have been having a heated debate about their favorite teams. She sunk down in her chair, a hot shame settling along her ribcage. “Maybe that’s not what he wants me for. Maybe it’s all part of some bigger ploy. You said everything is about optics, right? A rich, powerful princess to marry — what could be more perfect for the Supreme Leader?”

Poe watched her with narrowed eyes. “You sound a little jealous.”

Rey let out a booming laugh. “Are you kidding me? She can have him. Seriously. He’s all hers.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the sticky tabletop and trying not to think of Kylo’s gloved hand outstretched to her as they stood amid flaming rubble, her tears blurring the sight of his earnest face. _You’re nothing. But not to me_.

She had never told Poe, nor anyone from the Resistance or the Force’s Will, of Kylo Ren’s offer for her to join him and rule the galaxy by his side. For the longest time it felt like a fever dream, and then, when the trauma had solidified into grief, too much like treason. Even though she’d said no, she’d been afraid of the rebels knowing that Kylo Ren had once offered her to be his queen. She hadn’t wanted anyone to question her loyalty, to whisper amongst themselves that maybe she had been tempted, just a little bit.

_It’s time to let old things die. Snoke, Skywalker, the Sith, the Rebels, the Jedi. Let it all die. We could rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy._

His words still haunted her, running through her head when she couldn’t sleep. She’d wondered these last two years, watching the First Order consolidate power and establish itself as a shadow of the Empire, how much of that had happened because she’d refused him. She’d seen in Kylo a vision of a different future, and the system built in its place felt too much like the past. Usually she reasoned that he had simply been lying to her, or had since been corrupted by power. Still, at times, she worried she had no one to blame but herself.

Poe kept his intense gaze on her, his expression unchanged. “You might not want to be so eager to wish them marital bliss.”

“And why not?” scoffed Rey.

“Because the Hapes Cluster is home to some of the most powerful starships and advanced weapons tech in the galaxy. I’ve heard tales about the Hapan Battle Dragons that would make your skin crawl.” Poe gave his head a grim shake. “The First Order would never need a doomsday weapon like Starkiller Base again if they had those ships patrolling the skies.”

A lump formed in Rey’s throat. She realized how petty she was being, thinking only about what this development could mean for her as an individual, not the larger cause of the Force’s Will.

“I’m just not sure what we’re going to be able to do about it,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Unless we clinch this deal with Calrissian, absolutely nothing,” Poe said. “Which is why we can’t fail.”

Rey swallowed hard and stared into her empty mug. Their departure time was rapidly approaching, and her confidence felt diminished. “Let’s have one more ale before we go. For good luck.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Poe said, but his cheer sounded more forced than usual. He stood to put in an order at the bar, and returned with two frothing mugs. As they clinked together the cold glasses, he added softly, “And may the Force be with us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shade thrown at Finn and Rose in this chapter. I don't dislike them as characters, but Rian Johnson wrote me into a corner with their bizarre antics, and the Canto Bight portion of The Last Jedi is by far my least favorite. I think any decent strategist would point out the obvious flaws in their "plan." My inclusion of Canto Bight in this story is my attempt to fix what I thought was a cool premise but a terrible execution. 
> 
> A not insignificant portion of this chapter was influenced by watching Queer Eye at 4 am while helping a friend out with her newborn. I'm not sorry. 
> 
> I looked at the calendar and realized I'm probably in a race against time to include all the elements in this fic I want to before The Rise of Skywalker comes out and wrecks my fun. I'm hoping my setup diverges from canon enough that there won't be too much overlap, but there's some stuff I'd like to get down on the page and out there before I have to hold it up against the film. Does that mean more frequent updates??! Maybe, if I can stay motivated, though I can give no guarantees. I do have plenty of ideas and am eager to get to them, though. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.


	7. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux, Kylo and Phasma deal with the fallout of Kylo’s media fiasco. Kylo digs deeper into his search for Rey and finds more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is both a little longer and a little later than I planned, but it's finally up. Thanks to everyone who is reading for their continued interest in my little Star Wars sandbox playtime while we all wait for our next canon fix.

The disaster continued unmitigated into its third day. Hux called an emergency council meeting of the innermost circle, consisting of himself, the disgraced Supreme Leader, Director Phasma, and his most loyal of assistants, Dopheld Mitaka. The meeting was held in a board room behind the Imperial Palace’s audience chamber.

Phasma sat ramrod straight in her seat, expression unreadable, her short platinum hair impeccably combed, in a sensible yet fashionable black dress. Kylo sat to her right, slumped over the conference table, similarly in black, although unshaven and rumpled. Hux was reminded of a sullen teenager, which was fitting, because he felt like an absolutely furious parent.

“Right, here we go,” he announced, as soon as the door was properly sealed and the room was soundproofed. “Mitaka, slide.”

The holoprojecter hummed to life.

“I asked the PR analysts to prepare a report. As you can see, the results are abysmal, but I’ll break it down very simply so everyone can understand.” He shot a glare toward Kylo, who hadn’t even had the decency to look up. “Slide.”

The holoprojector clicked, and the first series of graphs filled the screen at the far end of the room.

Hux strode up to it, producing a pointer from his lapel pocket. He indicated a line chart. “This is the public opinion poll of the Supreme Leader’s approval rating over the last six months – un-inflated, of course. As you can see, he’s been hovering around twenty-five percent. _This_ —” he said, motioning toward a sharp dip at the right hand side, “is representative of the last three days since your little stunt.”

It was difficult for Hux to keep the disdain from his voice. Kylo rapped his fingers on the tabletop, but still hadn’t looked, which made Hux angrier. He barreled on. “Right now you’re at about twenty-two percent. Strictly speaking, precedent dictates that when a leader’s approval dips below twenty, one needs to worry about an uprising—”

“Says who?” Kylo shot back, finally making eye contact. “Was the Empire taking polls about Emperor Palpatine’s approval rating? About Darth Vader’s?”

Hux tried to center himself by taking a deep breath. “No, but as I’ve been _so_ kind as to remind you in the past, Ren, the totalitarian regime of Sheev Palpatine’s making had the folly of trying to rule entirely through fear, which is why it barely lasted twenty-five years. Maintaining power is a delicate balance, one _you_ upset the other day because you had go swinging through the city like some sort of wild Wookiee!”

Hux had barely been able to believe his senses when Kylo came skulking back to the palace that night, limping and bloody, with a pitiful explanation for his whereabouts. The utter folly of it was laughable: here Hux had been confident he kept the necessary tabs on the Supreme Leader at all times, and the revelation that Kylo had given his security detail the slip for something so childish was almost beyond the realm of comprehension.

Kylo set his jaw, an action he would undoubtedly be furious to learn made him resemble old footage Hux had seen of his father. “I _said_ I was sorry.”

Hux let out an abrupt laugh. “Sorry? You’re _sorry_ , Ren?” He stepped in front of the holoscreen, so that the projection shown on his white tailored jacket. “You _do_ realize that you are ill with an unidentified ailment, one we have been trying to diagnose for _weeks_ , don’t you?”

Kylo glanced down in stony silence.

Hux advanced toward him slowly, each step crisp with military precision. “I imported the best physicians in the Core – at no small expense, need I mention – only to stump them entirely because they couldn’t find an origin point. You’re a medical mystery, Ren. They could write journal articles about you.” As he strode, he closed his pointer and stashed it back in his lapel pocket. “ _Then_ I discover that not only were you concealing your little adventures from me, but you’ve been doing them so often and for so long it will now be virtually impossible to trace when and how you might have been infected!”

The space between them was rapidly closing, but Hux was far from finished. “ _And,_ on top of _that_ , you decide to go out into public and get yourself caught by the paparazzi, and for no discernible reason at all, _start an international incident—_ ”

Kylo kicked back his chair and stood, glaring. “You dare speak to me this way, Hux? It is by my grace alone that you haven’t been disposed of years ago.”

Kylo’s hand at his side began to twitch, and Hux fully expected his throat would soon tighten from a crushing psychic pressure. Even so, he was eager to get in the last word. “I speak any way I like to petulant, out-of-control little—”

“Boys, please.”

Both Hux and Kylo turned. Phasma, still seated to their left, raised one palm. Her expression remained unchanged. “Bickering will solve nothing, Armitage. Nor will choking him, Kylo, let’s be honest. What’s done is done, and all that’s left is dealing with the damage. You’re both needed for that, and time is of the essence, isn’t it?”

Hux and Kylo exchanged a glance, and both sighed. Kylo bend down to pick up his fallen chair, and Hux whirled to return to the holoscreen, peppering his perspiring forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Slide.” When the slide didn’t change, Hux looked to the holoprojector. Mitaka was still ducking behind the machine, visibly shaking. “Mitaka, it’s all right. There will be no violence here today.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mitaka in a warbling voice, and the slide changed with a click. Hux resisted the urge to shake his head. The boy had always been far too timid for battle.

“Now, where was I?” Hux studied the new slide, nodding curtly. “Ah, yes, of course. Media discourse trends. If we want to get ahead of this and spin it accordingly, we need to know what they’re saying about you. As you can see, the analysts pinpointed over thirty thousand uses of the phrase ‘marriage proposal’ in the last three days alone.”

He ran through several more slides, all of which indicated the public was obsessed with the idea that nuptials were imminent between Kylo and the Hapan princess.

“Our own attempts to quell the rumors through press statements and state-run news segments has been largely unsuccessful. It seems viral footage of their Supreme Leader standing like a bride who just caught the bouquet is a powerful image to the galactic citizenry.” He scrubbed his face with his hand to ward off the exhaustion that pounded in his temples. The last few nights had been sleepless. “Focus group surveys indicate that the public _is_ in fact interested in your love life, but that if they learn this was a farce of some kind, your approval rating is likely to slip more. Which is to say nothing of how this all looks to the Hapans. So the question is, where do we go from here?”

He turned to consult his audience. Kylo had resumed studying the conference table’s surface as if the mysteries of the universe could be unlocked there, and Phasma’s lethal deadpan hadn’t changed. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs as the silence stretched.

Behind them both, still trembling, Mitaka raised his hand.

Hux opened his mouth to tell him to put it down, but in an effort to be more patient, thought better of it. “What is it, Mitaka?”

“This might be a stupid question, sir, but is there any reason why we _couldn’t_ confirm the rumors?”

Kylo straightened at that and glared at Mitaka, which made him cower behind the holoprojector again. Hux stifled a laugh.

“I-I’m just asking!” Mitaka insisted, his hands up as if in surrender. “The most eminent Supreme Leader _did_ tell the press he bought those flowers for Princess Tenel Ka, after all.”

“Yes, he certainly did.” Hux pressed his lips together. “Care to enlighten us as to your strategy there, Ren?”

Kylo did not answer, of course. Hux had demanded an explanation when the incident was still ongoing, and he hadn’t provided one then, either. Kylo had sat stoically while being looked over by a medical droid, barely even wincing when it reset his ankle. The whole time he had clutched the damned bouquet of pink starflowers to his stomach in utter silence as Hux berated him for his stupidity. Kylo’s brooding quiet could be just as trying as his outbursts, Hux had learned.

“Do not think the Supreme Leader cannot hear you, Mitaka,” Hux said blithely. “He’s just being stubborn. The truth is I suspect those flowers were not for Princess Tenel Ka at all.”

Confusion crossed Mitaka’s pallid face. “Th-then who were they for?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Hux harped, bouncing on his heels, “who _were_ they for?”

Kylo stared at the ceiling. Of course he wouldn’t say. Hux had his suspicions, as nonsensical as they were. He thought Kylo refused to tell them because he knew how irrational he would sound if he dared speak it out loud. Flowers for a ghost girl. Trinkets for a figment of his imagination. And then they would have to have a conversation about his fitness to rule. Better to be silent about it, and let everyone think he had some secret – or not so secret – paramour.

“Who they were for is irrelevant,” Phasma interjected. “He’s on the record saying they’re for the princess. The Hapans have the Holonet like we do. Have they put out a response yet?”

Hux was mildly annoyed for the distraction from trying to break through Kylo’s exterior, but he was grateful for Phasma’s ability to cut right to the heart of the matter.

“Not yet, Director Phasma,” Mitaka reported.

“So I see two options here,” she said. “Either clarify to the Hapans directly that the gesture was simply one of goodwill on the part of the Supreme Leader in anticipation of their arrival, and then deal with the public disapproval.”

Kylo shot her a furtive glance. “What’s the other option?”

“It’s like Mitaka said. Confirm the rumors and propose to her.”

Kylo’s expression filled with horror, and for once Hux felt the same. He never thought Phasma would go so far as to suggest _that._

“Absolutely preposterous!” Hux thundered. “Given the Hapans’ strict matrilineal culture, a marriage proposal from a man to their future Queen Mother would be the utmost of insults, even if he’s the ruler of the galaxy. We’d lose the possibility of any alliance with the Hapes Cluster, never mind the arms deal we’ve been negotiating.” He had the blueprints to the latest designs of Hapan battle dragons in his quarters. At night he liked to mull over them with a good brandy. The designs were sleek, beautiful, and immensely powerful. And that was just one model.

“I’m well aware of the cultural implications,” Phasma said. “But it’s no secret the Supreme Leader is a bit hopeless when it comes to social morays. Make it seem like a marriage alliance was the plan all along, that Kylo is so smitten with her he couldn’t hold back. It will look crass, certainly, but perhaps endearing. You two were schoolmates long ago, weren’t you? Perhaps she’d be flattered to learn you’ve carried a plasma torch for her all these years?”

Kylo had been shaking his head, at first slowly and then with vehemence, until finally he cut her off with a string of obscenities and a fist smashed against the conference table. It left a fracture in the wood. “No, no, no, _no_! I’m not going to go crawling to this woman on hands and knees for the sake of a political alliance. I won’t compromise myself like that. The thought is disgusting.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended your delicate sensibilities,” Phasma monotoned, “but as Supreme Leader, did you really think you’d be able to marry for love?”

The stricken look on Kylo’s face broadcast that the poor fool had, in fact, thought such a thing. Hux almost felt sorry for him. He was also beginning to understand Phasma’s angle, which intrigued him.

“Sooner or later you’ll have to take a spouse,” Phasma continued, unfazed. “Unless you want to risk an usurpation, it better be with someone who can shore up your power. You could do far worse than Tenel Ka Djo, to be perfectly honest.”

“I thought you were the one who suggested the Hapans poisoned me,” Kylo protested.

“All the more reason to keep them close, don’t you think?”

Kylo looked past Phasma to Hux, silently pleading. Hux shrugged, all the while marveling at how brilliantly Phasma’s mind worked. This was precisely why he had kept her as his most trusted adviser for so long. Her solution to the problem Kylo had created for them was elegant, refined, and carried a sort of poetic justice. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it himself. A slow smirk crossed his face.

“This is unbelievable.” Kylo shot to his feet. “It’s out of the question. Come up with something else, or I’ll have you both executed for treason.”

He stormed from the room, using the Force to hurl a potted plant into the wall on his way out. The pot exploded in a cloud of soil and clay pieces. Mitaka let out a cry as he dove for cover, but overall the damage was minimal.

Hux strode closer to where Phasma sat, his grin widening to show his teeth. “Well played.”

Phasma glanced behind them, where Mitaka was rising and dusting himself off. “I tried my best. He took it about as well as I expected.”

“Me too,” Hux said softly. He spoke over her shoulder, his voice regaining its commanding edge. “Mitaka, go get custodial services to clean up the mess.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitaka moaned. He fled the room, looking as though he might be sick.

Once they were alone, Hux’s shoulder’s slumped. “He’s getting worse.”

“Mitaka was always a coward,” Phasma said, gathering up her files.

Hux sighed. “You know who I mean.”

Phasma’s hand froze as she reached for her datapad, and instead rested on the crack Kylo’s fist had made in the table. “That’s why I suggested it. If his mental state continues to deteriorate, the stronger the figures he surrounds himself with, the better. They’ll prop him up as long as it’s mutually beneficial for everyone.” She looked up at Hux, a position that so rarely happened unless she remained seated. “Do _you_ understand the bit with the flowers? I certainly don’t.”

Hux shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me, but I suspect he got confused about what was real and what wasn’t. Perhaps playing out a fantasy in his head about that girl he’s so fixated on.”

“That’s sad,” Phasma murmured. “There’s still no indication of a cause from the physicians?”

“Nothing,” Hux confirmed. “And now, knowing he’s been galavanting around the city under our noses, who knows what sort of toxins or bacteria he was exposed to. Any number of foreign agents or assassins could have had access to him.”

“Assuming that’s the cause and not a symptom,” Phasma said. “I had an old uncle growing up. Near the end he would forget where he was and go wandering. My brothers and I were always tracking him down and convincing him to come home.”

Hux suddenly felt exhausted. “I’ll work on him. He might come around on the Hapans.”

“He might,” Phasma said, with a tone that conveyed both their doubts.

After a few moments, Phasma added, “Speaking of the girl, I thought I should mention. This morning I received word from one of my agents that someone of her description was spotted yesterday.”

“Oh?” Hux said, pulling himself out of his troubled thoughts. “Where?”

“A cantina on Terminus.”

“Goodness.” Hux chuckled. So the object of Kylo’s desire was right where she ought to be – serving drinks or dancing for grimy spacers at the literal edge of the galaxy. “She certainly crawled back into the rubbish bin, didn’t she?”

Phasma didn’t crack a smile. “Maybe not.” She stood, opening one of the files marked Sensitive and handing it to him. She was old-fashioned in the sense that she didn’t like entrusting intelligence solely to holo-files, and often kept hard copies. “She was with a male companion.”

Hux took the file and opened it. Enclosed was a printout of a holo-image in grainy black and white. There was the girl called Rey, recognizable from the mugshot taken when she’d first been apprehended and taken to Starkiller base. She sat at a booth across from a human man with dark curly hair and an easy smile. They seemed to be enjoying themselves; the table between them was littered with ale mugs.

Phasma stood by, ostensibly waiting for him to notice something.

“Well, she seems to have a penchant for older men,” Hux quipped.

Phasma glanced over his shoulder. “Move your thumb.”

Frowning, Hux slid his thumb from the corner of the image where he had gripped it to keep it from falling from the file. Now he could see that the sleeve of the man’s jacket was adorned with a faded Rebel Alliance logo from the days of the Old Empire.

Hux’s head snapped up, his voice filling with urgency. “Who is he?”

“According to our analysts, his name is Poe Dameron,” Phasma said. The name rang no bells to Hux. “A soldier. Formerly of the New Republic Army, then known to be working for the Resistance.”

The name of the rebel group sent a cold chill down Hux’s spine. “But the Resistance has been eradicated.”

“Yes,” Phasma agreed. “This is perhaps more serious. There’s been chatter of another terrorist organization gaining traction in the Outer Rim. My sources say it’s called the Force’s Will, and Dameron is their de facto leader.”

“Why are they on Terminus? What are they doing there?” Hux demanded.

“Were. They've left already. But that’s what we’re still trying to find out.”

“Do it, and quickly,” Hux said. “I want to know everything about these two, what they’ve been up to, where they might be going.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll update you as soon as we know something.” She paused, then added, “Since this is a matter of national security, I’ve been torn about whether to alert the Supreme Leader about this development.”

“Absolutely not,” Hux snapped, shutting the file and handing it back to her. “We have enough problems with Ren. If he finds out his imaginary girlfriend is stepping out on him with a terrorist leader, who knows what might happen to us.”

“That’s what I thought, sir,” Phasma said, tucking the file under her arm. She hesitated, took a swift look around, even though the room was soundproofed, and, leaning in, lowered her voice. “I’ve been thinking, Armitage. If the Supreme Leader ever did lose his faculties completely, with the abilities that he has—”

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” Hux said, in an equally hushed tone. “And what might need to be done to neutralize a threat, so to speak.”

Now they really were talking about treason. Hux’s stomach clenched. The last time he and Phasma had shared space and thoughts so intimate, they had been discussing what to do about his father. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

Then the door behind them flew open, and Mitaka jogged in with the janitorial staff trailing behind. Panting, he announced, “I’ve got this, sir! It’s all under control!”

Hux and Phasma broke away from each other, each straightening and putting on their best professional demeanor. “Very good, Mitaka,” Hux said. Turning to Phasma, he shook her hand cordially. “Thank you for your time and input, Director.”

Before he let go, he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “And as for what to do about Ren, let’s just say I’m working on a contingency plan.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, Kylo sat in his presidential office, his chin propped up on a hand, listening to the ambassador from Naboo drone on about trade agreements. The ambassador had insisted upon a private meeting, and since Naboo was the seat of power for the Mid-Rim – and the homeworld of the Old Empire’s emperor – he was supposed to be afforded the utmost courtesy.

Unfortunately, Kylo had a difficult time staying awake through the man’s verbose ranting. He’d been sleeping poorly again, ever since the awful meeting with Hux and Phasma. To have the utter audacity to gang up on him, the Supreme Leader, and try to force his hand into _proposing marriage_ to Tenel Ka when the Hapan delegation arrived? It was revolting, and reeked of the machinations that were undoubtedly going on out of Kylo's earshot, even in his closest circle of confidants.

To simulate paying attention to the ambassador, Kylo had a datapad in front of him with the copy of the trade agreement loaded. He gripped a stylus in his hand, as if poised to magnanimously sign the bottom line. Every time he tried to read the text, however, his eyes glazed over. His gaze wandered to a browning star-shaped blossom that had fallen onto his desk. He poked at it with the tip of his stylus, frowning at the bouquet of starflowers that still stood to his right, wilting in an algae-ridden crystal vase.

He’d put them there himself the day after the run-in with the paparazzi, and took their slow death to be an ill omen. Rey was alive out there somewhere, but his attempts to find her had been stonewalled by a PR nightmare. He’d been having dreams that she’d seen the incriminating video of him on the Holonet and laughed at how pathetic he was. He awoke drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted, seething from shame.

And now add to it the utter humiliation of being cornered by his very own Prime Minister and Director of Intelligence, told the best solution to the mess he was in was to _marry_ some minor royal—

“Goodness, Supreme Leader, are you quite all right?” the ambassador asked, alarmed.

Kylo blinked himself back to the present. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

The ambassador continue to watch him peculiarly until Kylo looked down and realized he’d snapped the stylus in two. He cleared his throat. “Shoddy design, anyway.” He tossed it into the garbage receptacle. He grabbed another and hastily scrawled his signature on the datapad. “There, the trade agreement is accepted, Ambassador. You’re free to go.”

The ambassador blinked in confusion. “But, your excellency—”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Kylo demanded. “Or was it simply your intention to talk my ear off all afternoon?”

The ambassador sputtered, “Certainly not, Supreme Leader— I couldn’t dream of it—” He picked up his own datapad and scrutinized Kylo’s signature before tucking it into his grey robes. “I’ll take my leave, then. Thank you for your generosity.”

He bowed brusquely and backed out of the room, still murmuring platitudes. When he was gone, Kylo jumped up and locked the office door. He took to pacing, one of his favorite pastimes as of late. His agitation could not be quelled. He could not banish the image of Hux’s smug, self-important expression in the board room, asking him to explain himself. It was all Hux’s fault Kylo had blurted that ridiculous lie about buying the bouquet of flowers for Tenel Ka. He’d been thinking too much like Hux, thinking of the political fallout of announcing that he sought a pauper from the Western Reaches named Rey. And this is how he had been repaid— the media spin, the public thinking he wanted to marry a princess, and his own blasted advisers telling him he should actually _do_ it.

 _Hux wants to replace you_ , a voice whispered. _It’s all part of a plan to usurp you._

Kylo gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to clear it of the unwanted voice. He didn’t recognize this one, as he sometimes did. It was as though the Force itself was offering him counsel, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it.

“He wouldn’t dare,” Kylo muttered. “He knows he needs me.”

_If that were true, why hasn’t he helped you find Rey?_

Kylo hesitated, because he didn’t know the answer to that. “He thinks she’s dead.” But that didn’t make sense, because this whole time neither of them had confirmation of that. And when Hux had accompanied him to the palace infirmary after the debacle with the paparazzi, Kylo had wanted to tell him about the Force vision he’d had confirming that Rey was alive. But he hadn’t. A strange feeling had prevented him from interrupting Hux’s screed about being so careless and idiotic as to go out alone without a security detail.

_There’s something he’s not telling you._

“What?” Kylo barked. “What’s he not telling me?”

His agitation had crescendoed into a sense of panic, and his eyes darted around the empty office as he implored the voice to give him a straight answer. But it had fallen silent. He felt shaky, his brow damp with perspiration. It had been a long time since he’d had outright conversations with mysterious disembodied voices — not since his time at the Jedi Academy, when Snoke had been beckoning him to the Knights of Ren. A shiver ran down his spine, and he wondered if that was the root of this evil plaguing him. Was there another Dark Lord out there, trying to ensnare him into servitude?

“Well, joke’s on _you_. This time I’m not falling for it.”

That didn’t mean the voice was wrong about Prime Minister Hux. The man’s ambitions had always outweighed his scruples.

Kylo stopped pacing in front of the office's large window. It gave him a perfect view across the promenade, to the building which housed the Intelligence Bureau. He stared at the entrance, at the stream of government workers going in and out, dressed in their bureaucratic finery. The building itself was a concrete block adorned with the black and red banners of the First Order. The facade gave no indication of the massive surveillance apparatus that operated within its walls.

Kylo gulped down a breath. Maybe it was time to outsource his problems. He _was_ the Supreme Leader, after all.

He told the receptionist he would not be taking his lunch inside the palace today. His security detail, newly doubled by Hux’s orders, followed him onto the street. Kylo feigned a stroll toward a nearby square with outdoor dining, as if he wanted to take advantage of the crisp autumn weather. Shortly before reaching their destination, he whirled and reached out with the Force, staring deep into the eyes of the head bodyguard. “You’re starving. Take your lunch break.”

The Force suggestion worked nicely, and all four guards nodded and left him. Kylo suppressed a grin — it was always amusing to see the effects of his power — and walked with purpose toward the Intelligence Bureau headquarters. He summoned a Force glamor that would make him unrecognizable to any who happened to be observing, lest he cause another stir.

He’d been inside the lobby of the Intelligence Bureau before, on a school field trip when it belonged to the New Republic; it had been part of his mother’s own civic engagement education policy. Even so, it had been a struggle for the agent acting as tour guide to explain to a gang of children the definition of intelligence gathering. _You’re all spies, right?_ Kylo had blurted, calling to mind the term his father had used in one of the heated debates his parents had in those days — back before the outright fighting. The finer points of the exchange had been lost on him, but the gist was that Han hadn’t approved of the far-reaching powers Leia’s Senate colleagues had afforded the IB. _Do you assassinate people?_

Watching the agent try to maintain his composure was one of Kylo’s fondest childhood memories.

It was off-putting how unchanged the Bureau’s lobby was from back then: the same marble flooring, the same intricate columns. Only the insignia inlaid on the floor had changed, from the New Republic crest to the First Order’s. Before that, surely it had been the symbol of the Empire that had lain beneath Kylo’s boots. He had learned that some things shifted drastically with regime changes, some barely at all.

It took the smallest effort through the Force to learn the correct floor for intelligence analysis and gain access to the lifts. Arriving at the correct floor, he spilled out into an open chamber with easily hundreds of agents sitting before computer terminals, typing away. As Supreme Leader, certainly he had clearance to access these intel databases remotely, but that would have left digital fingerprints. If Hux was truly acting against him, Kylo did not want to create a trail that could be followed.

He strolled in between rows of desks, looking around. At last he spotted a young human woman, small and delicately assembled, not the type one called to mind when considering the term “intelligence agent.” He debated how to approach her. Maintaining the Force glamor might waylay him with questions; Force suggestion might render her too dumb to help.

In the end he dropped all pretense, stepped in front of her desk and said, “Agent, I need your assistance.”

She looked up from her screen and her eyes nearly popped from her head. She squeaked, “ _S-s-supreme Leader—!”_

Kylo raised a hand to silence her. “Shh. I’m on a secret mission.”

The agent blanched, but gave a tiny nod. “Of course, your Excellency,” she whispered.

Kylo ducked behind her chair and squatted so that he was eye level with her screen. Surely he couldn’t trust her to keep quiet, but he’d use the Force to erase her memory afterward, and no one would be any the wiser.

The agent sat rigidly beside him, her eyes straying toward him, though she barely moved her head. “What do you need?”

“I need to set up a security alert. For my eyes only.”

“You only, sir? Our highest security clearance only goes to—”

“I’m aware of how high security clearances go. I need a custom one, passcode level. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

She began typing frantically. Kylo watched the sweat trickle down the nape of her neck.

“What should I set the alert for, Supreme Leader?”

Kylo rocked back on his heels, considering. “I’m looking for a girl. Only known name Rey, no known aliases. Originally from the planet Jakku in the Western Reaches of the Inner Rim. Formerly affiliated with the Resistance. Current whereabouts—” He hesitated, calling to mind the Force vision, her frightened eyes, the child in her arms. “—Anywhere with pink starflower trees.”

If that was a strange criteria, the agent didn’t comment upon it. More typing, and then a decisive punch of the Enter key when she submitted the request. Kylo was still mulling over the troubling vision of Rey when the agent frowned and turned to him. “Um, sir. There’s already a security alert out for someone of that description.”

“What?” Something deep in Kylo’s stomach went cold. “How is that possible?”

“I-I don’t know, sir. But it’s been active for several weeks.”

“Several _weeks_? Move over.” He gave her wheeled chair an unceremonious shove and took over the computer terminal himself.

Sure enough, the search criteria was almost identical, sans the detail about the trees. Worse, the alert had been pinged twice already as field agents had reported intel. One from about a week ago, and another only hours before. Kylo tried to open the attached intel reports, but the screen flashed that access was denied.

“Can you open this?” Kylo hissed to the agent.

She sat in the chair that had rolled about a root away, fidgeting nervously with her hands in her lap. “No, sir. I-I lack the clearance, sir.”

Kylo stood to his full height, no longer caring who saw or heard him, and bellowed, “ _Then find someone who can_.”

She shrieked; agents in all directions bolted from their seats. As they set eyes on him, Kylo added, “By order of the Supreme Leader.”

A chorus of _yes, sirs_ ensued, followed by a flurry of activity and the promise of a supervisor that they could override the lock on the files if they had to, of course the Supreme Leader had the right to view any piece of intel he wished, just wait five minutes while they contacted IT. In the mean time, Kylo seethed and scoured the available alert for any clue as to its origin.

His search didn’t take long. The _Clearance_ field at the bottom of the document read in plain Aurebesh: _For the eyes of Director Phasma and Prime Minister Hux only._

****

* * *

 

Once Kylo had read the intelligence reports, he ordered them destroyed, then stormed from the Intelligence Bureau without bothering to wipe anyone’s memory. He wanted them to remember the Supreme Leader was not someone to be trifled with. Besides, wiping one person’s memory was easy. Erasing an entire floor of an office building would have expended more energy than he could have spared. He had every intention of confronting Hux immediately.

This proved difficult, however. Hux was not in his office, set adjacent to his own. The receptionist said he too was out to lunch. “Where?” Kylo demanded, only to be met with a shrug.

This set Kylo to stalking the halls of the palace’s administrative section as if it was the old days on the _Finalizer_ and he was still outfitted with mask and cape. He thought about finding Phasma first, but that would entail returning to the IB building and dealing with her stone-cold visage. He thought about simply vanishing, armed with his newfound knowledge, but decided any disappearance on his part might be viewed by Hux as an opportunity to fill the power vacuum himself. No, he had to deal with the Prime Minister first and foremost.

At last Kylo rounded a corner and nearly ran into Mitaka, hurrying his way with a stack of datapads. “You,” Kylo growled, pointing. Mitaka dropped his bounty and flung himself toward a nearby pillar for cover. Kylo grabbed him by his collar and yanked backward. “Where’s Hux?”

Mitaka’s back crashed into his chest; he grabbed for the top button of his dress shirt. “He’s— he’s— taking a private audience in his quarters, sir.”

“Thank you,” Kylo said, dropping him. Once on the floor, Mitaka appeared to play dead to reduce the risk of further injury.

Up to the residential levels of the palace Kylo went. In the lift, he rehearsed what he would say. He would use his best Darth Vader voice; he had noticed long ago they’d both inherited low, booming cadences. He would wrest the plot from Hux, whether verbally or mentally, and then have him thrown into detention on Jagg Island to await trial for his crimes.

Hux’s apartment was situated a few floors below Kylo’s penthouse. Like the Supreme Leader, the Prime Minister was afforded sprawling quarters that took up the entire floor. When the lift arrived at its location, Kylo stepped off to see Praetorian Guards standing outside the entranceway. Hux loved the symbolism of their bright armored uniforms, redder than the reddest human blood, and had increased the size of the force by at least one thousand percent in the last couple of years. But like all the rest, they were susceptible to mind manipulation, and so let him into the apartment with nary a hesitation.

Unlike Kylo, who saw little point in ostentatious decor, Hux had certainly made his home look like the height of old Imperial splendor. Pricey artwork hung above ornate furniture, shining and gilded in the most self-important ways. Hux dedicated whole walls to shelves of paperbound tomes, no doubt containing the political philosophies of the ancient dead. In the study, a holo showing the schematics of a Hapan battle dragon rotated slowly above the large desk, on display for no one. That Hux could not immediately be found did not deter Kylo; it was a wonder one could find anything in a space so cluttered with frippery.

This attitude brought Kylo unbidden into the master bedroom, fully expecting Hux to be seated in an easy chair with a glass of liquor and some pretentious reading material. Instead, the sight was altogether different: Hux flat on his back on the four-poster bed, straddled at the waist by an unfamiliar young woman. Kylo’s first muddled thought was that someone had beaten him to the punch and was in the middle of an assassination attempt. However, that notion was quickly dispelled by the obvious fact that neither were clothed (the girl’s obscenely bouncing breasts were impossible to overlook), and the sounds escaping them were certainly not that of an armed struggle.

Kylo stopped dead in his tracks, the shock rendering him speechless.

The two lovers were not similarly paralyzed. Hux looked up, let out a surprised yelp, and practically bucked the girl right off the mattress. She landed with a thud on the far side of the bed, out of sight.

Hux reached frantically for a black satin sheet to cover himself with, shouting all the while, “ _Ren, what the actual fuck are you doing?_ ”

Perhaps it was the severity of the epithet – Kylo had never heard Hux utter language so base – that finally shook him out of his catatonia. He threw his hands against his eyes (belatedly, of course, as his retinas were already scarred forever) and whirled around for good measure. Having forgotten entirely the reason for his visit, righteous indignation sprung up in its place. “I should ask you the same thing, Prime Minister!”

From somewhere behind his right shoulder, Hux’s voice huffed, “Ren, I understand your unfortunate youth robbed you of the knowledge of a great many things, but I should hope the finer points of what consenting adults get up to their free time isn’t one of them.”

Embarrassment flooded Kylo, bringing the heat to his face. Mitaka’s sniveling voice _– taking a private audience in his quarters_ – echoed through his mind. The euphemism he’d failed to pick up on seemed glaringly obvious now. “Of course I know. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s— I just—” He couldn’t bear to finish his thought aloud. Just thought Hux seemed committed to the cause above all else? Just never noticed Hux was dating someone? Just assumed Hux and Phasma were—

“You can uncover your eyes now,” Hux scoffed. “The show’s over.”

Feeling profoundly stupid, Kylo dropped his hands and turned around. Hux was seated in an easy chair, wrapped in a grey silk robe. His face was as red as his hair, hidden partially by the hand he pressed against it in exasperation. The girl was mostly dressed as well, in a short top and flowing skirt, though barefoot on the carpet in a way that felt somehow profane. She was tidying her long, ashen hair, her expression cool – a human, no surprise, given Hux’s attitude toward aliens, but younger than Kylo would have guessed, and more casually dressed. She refused to make eye contact with him – who could blame her, really – but did not seem otherwise perturbed.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo said to her, compelled to demonstrate that he wasn’t a complete imbecile. “Hux never mentioned he was seeing someone.”

This elicited no response from the girl, not even a look.

Kylo was beginning to suspect she didn’t speak Basic when she stuck out her palm toward Hux and said, without an accent, “No partials. The policy is payment for the whole session, regardless of interruptions.”

Kylo gaped. He’d once again incorrectly read this entire situation.

“I’ll have the full amount wired to your employer’s account,” Hux snapped.

The girl extended her palm farther. “I prefer cash.”

Hux let out a mirthless laugh. “I bet you do.”

Kylo stood motionless while Hux stood, made a great show of unlocking a safe he kept next to his wardrobe, and pressed the credits into the girl’s hands. When she had tucked the bills away, she finally glanced at Kylo, indifferent. “Next time, just ask your friend to join us.”

Hux rolled his eyes, settling back into his chair. “You can see yourself out.”

When she had, Hux grumbled, “Won’t be requesting her again. Had a bit of an attitude.” He glanced up at Kylo, face still flushed, lip twisting into a sneer. “Well, I hope whatever brought you barging in here was worth it. It’s my bloody lunch break, I should be able to do with it as I please.”

There was a defensive quality to his voice, which Kylo found incredible. “You said _consenting_ adults.”

Hux scowled and raked his fingers through the ginger locks that had been displaced by his escapade. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ren, you’ve already ruined my afternoon. I am not going to get into a debate with you about the moral pitfalls of the sex trade.”

“But— but—” He was unbalanced by Hux’s apparent mastery of something Kylo found utterly vile. He dimly remembered that he came here to brand Hux a traitor and have him arrested, but this seemed to balloon his villainy into the incomprehensible. “How _could_ you?”

“Very easily. These girls provide a service and a man has needs, though not always the time for extended courtship to satisfy them.”  It wasn’t evident whether Hux was trying to convince Kylo with this explanation, or himself. What Kylo had first taken for brutal detachment seemed now to carry an undercurrent of shame. Nevertheless, Hux pushed on. “They’re very discreet; you ought to try it.” He gave Kylo a pointed once-over. “It might help you relax.”

“Me? _Relax_?” Kylo let out a maniacal laugh. “You want me to relax. When my prime minister has the nerve to try to marry me off for political gain, yet avails himself of prostitutes.”

The attempt to twist a blade in Hux’s discovered wound didn’t quite land. Hux parried by retorting, “It’s better than your approach: repress everything until you explode.” He tilted his head, fixing Kylo with a curious gaze. “You’ve never even had a woman, have you?”

The blood pounded in Kylo’s ears; the edges of his vision glowed red with rage. “You'd best tread carefully with your Supreme Leader, Hux. You’re already on the thinnest ice there is, now that I’ve learned you’ve gone behind my back with your treachery.”

Hux’s smug grin froze on his face. “What are you talking about, Ren?”

“Will you deny it? Or should I go ask Phasma? I assume you went directly to her.”

The smirk faded. “Listen here, Ren—”

Kylo couldn’t hold back any longer. He raised his hand, made a twisting motion, and Hux’s body shot up into the air. His breath left him in a strangled cry.

Kylo walked around him slowly. “You’ve known where Rey was this whole time. And you didn’t tell me.”

“Ren!” Hux’s fingers clawed at his throat the way Mitaka’s had, but there was no fabric to loosen to allow him oxygen. Kylo twisted farther, and Hux’s legs kicked as he dangled, his mouth opening and closing, tongue struggling to form words. “I did— I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Kylo demanded. “Didn’t want me to have access to the one person who might cure me of my affliction? To what end? So you could keep me on your leash? Continue to use me as a pawn in your political games?”

“—Didn’t— didn’t know until — last week. Didn’t want to upset you. Terminus station — she’s no longer there.” A shuddering gasp. “ _Please_ , Ren.”

Hux’s face was purplish, his lips turning blue, hair flopped over one eye. Kylo could wait a few more minutes and it would all be over. But there was something about the way he’d neglected to add any information after Terminus. Kylo remembered: the time stamp on the newest intel report dating only to this morning.

“I suppose the news hasn’t reached you yet.”

Kylo released him. Hux fell on hands and knees, alternately gulping mouthfuls of air and going into fits of coughing. Kylo put his hands behind his back and smiled primly down at his prime minister. For once, he knew something Hux didn’t. “Phasma’s agents are good. They traced her ship from the Terminus space yard and its hyperdrive signature. She’s headed to the Corporate Sector. Cantonica.”

“Wh-what?” Hux looked up in surprise, wiping his drooling mouth with the back of his palm. “Why in the galaxy would she go there?”

“I don’t know. But if I leave now, I should be able to make it there before she does.” It didn’t take an astrogation expert to know Coruscant was much closer to CorpSec than the ass end of the galactic south. And Kylo’s flagship had the latest in hyperdrive technology, unlike the hunk of junk Rey was flying around in. He’d burst out with sick laughter reading the make and model of the ship listed in the intel report: _Corellian light freighter, YT-1300_ , a statistic he’d been able to spout off since he was old enough to talk.

Hux was shaking his head, his blue eyes wide with fear. It seemed to be setting in that he had lost control of this situation. “Ren, you can’t. The Hapan delegation will be here in three days.”

“Yes, they will,” Kylo agreed. “And it’s unlikely I’ll be able to make it there and back before they arrive. That’s where you come in, Prime Minister. You will be here to meet the Hapans and stall them while I retrieve Rey. And you’ll do it gladly and without complaint, to atone for going against direct orders and scheming behind my back. No word of my absence is to leak to anyone. If you perform admirably, I’ll change my mind about having you arrested for treason. Is that clear?”

He wasn’t sure why he was being so generous after Hux had both betrayed and humiliated him. But they both knew it would be difficult for Kylo to appoint his replacement from the incommunicable depths of hyperspace.

Hux’s hands tightened into fists. He gave a tremulous nod and bowed his forehead to the floor. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Good.” Already Kylo felt lighter. He had taken a step toward righting the order of the universe. “I’d better get packing, then.”

He was halfway to the bedroom door when Hux said, “Kylo, wait.”

He turned. Hux had stumbled to his feet and was doubled over against the wardrobe. “You can’t just burst into the Corporate Sector without being noticed. And Cantonica’s one of the most powerful planets in the region. How will you deal with the leadership?”

Kylo waved away his concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

Hux remained unconvinced. “I’ve heard tales about Lando Calrissian. To say he’s reticent about accepting the legitimacy of the First Order government is putting it lightly.”

“I’m not afraid of Lando Calrissian.” A slow smirk spread across Kylo’s face.

Hux gawked at him; clearly he thought Kylo insane. “Perhaps you should be.”

“How can I?” Kylo shrugged. “He’s my uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was about time I earned that M rating. Probably not in the way anyone was expecting, but hey. Thanks to Monocytogenes for all the great Hux headcanon that made this chapter possible.
> 
> Although Phasma is my queen, the breakout star of this installment is definitely Mitaka, poor thing.


End file.
